52. Cyrano de Bergerac

Cyrano de Bergerac. Edmond Rostand. Translated by Gladys Thomas and Mary F Guillemard. 1897. 240 pages. [Source: Bought]

First sentence: Hollo! You there! Your money!

Premise/plot: Cyrano de Bergerac is in love with his cousin, Roxane. The problem? He lacks the courage to tell her so because he feels his (large) nose will prevent her from ever loving him in return. To be fair, readers can't be sure either. For the most part, he is content loving her from afar. To be in her orbit at all--as a cousin, as a memory from the past, a friend--is enough for him. But when he receives a message from her asking for a private meeting, well, he lets his imagination run away with him--briefly. His heart is uplifted and hope begins to blossom. But when he realizes his mistake the next day, well, once again he puts her needs ahead of his (silly, foolish) hopes and dreams. Of course, Roxane has fallen head over heels with someone she's NEVER spoken to. Of course, Roxane is dreaming of a happily ever after with a super dreamy oh-so-handsome soldier. His name is Christian de Neuvillette. And she has a favor to ask of him--do everything in his power to befriend and protect Christian. And, oh, by the way can you tell him I love and adore him. 

Cyrano tells Christian that Roxane does love him, but, instead of that being the end of it...it is just the start. For Roxane is determined that the man she loves will be brilliant and exceptionally well-spoken. He must win her heart through his words. The problem? Christian's idea of wooing is to say "I love you" and go in for a kiss. NOT WHAT ROXANE WANTS AT ALL. The solution is for Cyrano to give Christian the words to speak to win her heart for once and all. But is that a real solution?! Is a happily ever after possible in this love triangle?!

Cyrano de Bergerac is a five act (French) play by Edmond Rostand written/performed in 1897. It is set in seventeenth century France around the same time as The Three Musketeers. And like The Three Musketeers, it has sword fighting. Lots and lots of sword fighting. The musketeers make a few appearances throughout the play--look for them in the background. It's like playing Where's Waldo.

 My thoughts: I love, love, love Cyrano de Bergerac. I'm not sure I equally adore Roxane. Cyrano is already madly in love with her before Act I. His love for her is never in question, and never in doubt. To him, she is absolute perfection. His longed-for ideal. But is he seeing only what he wants to see? How well does he know the real her? Does he love her because she is beautiful? Does he love her because she is so out of reach and unattainable? Does his love of her have roots from their shared childhood? 

Roxane may or may not be everything Cyrano believes her to be. That's the truth. Christian and Cyrano both think the world of her. As does the MARRIED Duke de Guiche. So maybe there's good reason--besides her outside beauty--for attracting all the guys. Maybe. But maybe not. Again, what do readers know besides the fact that she is a) BEAUTIFUL b) believes in love at first sight c) has preconceived notions of what LOVE is all about d) knows exactly what she wants and doesn't want in a romantic partner. I get the impression that she has mapped out her happily ever after in her imagination and nothing less than perfect will do. (At least at the start.) 

Roxane doesn't see the real worth of Cyrano until it is too late. She has known him most of her life and never actually seen him.  That is incredibly sad. I'm just trying to guess if she really was all that he imagined her to be. Was his love a 'storybook love'-- and the stuff of daydreams only. Surely Roxane had flaws! Who doesn't have flaws?! Surely Roxane would have proved disappointing or irritating at times if they'd lived together closely. 

Christian. How do I feel about him?! I think Cyrano and Christian are using each other--taking advantage of one another. This agreed upon dishonesty isn't all that healthy when all is said and done. Christian realizes--on a fateful day--that he needs more, deserves more. He doesn't want to be loved for his 'fairness' his fineness. He wants to be loved heart and soul for himself. He doesn't want to be an object of lust. Does Christian love Roxane for more than her looks? her body? Does he love her truly heart, soul, mind, body. I'm not sure. Perhaps the play--when scrutinized--reveals how silly "true love" is and how deceptive the human heart can be. Roxane didn't have a clue who Christian was--not really. She never saw him for who he really was. And if Christian had lived instead of died, chances are Roxane would have broken his heart.

Quotes:

A description of Roxane

When one looks at her one thinks of a peach smiling at a strawberry!

Cyrano to Christian

None is a fool who knows himself a fool. And you did not attack me like a fool.

Cyrano to Christian

Will you complete me, and let me complete you? Let me be wit for you, be you my beauty! 

Christian speaks for himself....

CHRISTIAN (sits by her on the bench. A silence): Oh! I love you!
ROXANE (shutting her eyes): Ay, speak to me of love.
CHRISTIAN: I love thee! 
ROXANE: That's The theme! But vary it. 
CHRISTIAN: I. . . 
ROXANE: Vary it!  
CHRISTIAN: I love you so! 
ROXANE: Oh! without doubt!--and then?. . . 
CHRISTIAN: And then--I should be--oh!--so glad--so glad If you would love me!--Roxane, tell me so!  
ROXANE (with a little grimace): I hoped for cream,--you give me gruel! Say How love possesses you? 
CHRISTIAN: Oh utterly! 
ROXANE: Come, come!. . .unknot those tangled sentiments! 
CHRISTIAN: I am grown stupid! 
ROXANE (dryly): And that displeases me, almost as much As 'twould displease me if you grew ill-favored.  
ROXANE: Yes, you love me, that I know. Adieu. (She goes toward her house.) CHRISTIAN: Oh, go not yet! I'd tell you-- 
ROXANE (opening the door): You adore me? I've heard it very oft. No!--Go away!

  Cyrano "saves" the night by speaking for Christian in shadows...

ROXANE: To-day. . . Your words are hesitating.
CYRANO (imitating Christian--in a whisper): Night has come. . . In the dusk they grope their way to find your ear.  
ROXANE: Meseems that your last words have learned to climb. 
CYRANO: With practice such gymnastic grows less hard! 
CYRANO (more and more moved): Stay awhile! 'Tis sweet,. . . The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak Our selves unseen, unseeing! Your eyes Have beams that turn men dizzy!--But to-night Methinks I shall find speech for the first time!
ROXANE: Ay! I am trembling, weeping!--I am thine! Thou hast conquered all of me!
CYRANO: Then let death come! 'Tis I, 'tis I myself, who conquered thee! One thing, but one, I dare to ask--
CHRISTIAN (under the balcony): A kiss

Cyrano on kisses...

A kiss, when all is said,--what is it? An oath that's ratified,--a sealed promise, A heart's avowal claiming confirmation,--A rose-dot on the 'i' of 'adoration,'-- A secret that to mouth, not ear, is whispered,-- Brush of a bee's wing, that makes time eternal,--Communion perfumed like the spring's wild flowers,-- The heart's relieving in the heart's outbreathing, When to the lips the soul's flood rises, brimming!

Cyrano before the last battle

CYRANO: Poets, at last,--by dint of counterfeiting-- Take counterfeit for true--that is the charm! This farewell letter,--it was passing sad, I wept myself in writing it!
CHRISTIAN: Wept? why?
CYRANO: Oh!. . .death itself is hardly terrible,. . . --But, ne'er to see her more! That is death's sting! --For. . .I shall never. . .

Cyrano confesses to Christian

CYRANO: You have. . .written to her oftener than you think. . .
CHRISTIAN: How so?
CYRANO: Thus, 'faith! I had taken it in hand to express your flame for you!.  
CHRISTIAN: But how did you contrive, since we have been cut off, thus. . .to?. . . CYRANO: . . .Oh! before dawn. . .I was able to get through. . . 
CHRISTIAN (folding his arms): That was simple, too? And how oft, pray you, have I written?. . .Twice in the week?. . .Three times?. . .Four?. . . 
 CYRANO: More often still. 
CHRISTIAN: What! Every day? 
CYRANO: Yes, every day,--twice.

Roxane says a little too much...(abbreviated)

ROXANE: 'Tis your fault if I ran risks! Your letters turned my head! Ah! all this month, How many!--and the last one ever bettered The one that went before! Ah! you cannot conceive it! Ever since That night, when, in a voice all new to me, Under my window you revealed your soul-- Ah! ever since I have adored you! Now Your letters all this whole month long!--meseemed As if I heard that voice so tender, true, Sheltering, close! ROXANE: I read, read again--grew faint for love; I was thine utterly. Each separate page Was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed From your own soul, and wafted thus to mine. Imprinted in each burning word was love Sincere, all-powerful. . . 
CHRISTIAN: At first I loved you only for your face! 
CHRISTIAN (horror-stricken): Roxane! 
ROXANE: And later, love--less frivolous-- Like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly-- Arrested by your beauty, by your soul Drawn close--I loved for both at once!

CHRISTIAN: I do not ask such love as that! I would be loved more simply; for..  ROXANE: Ah! how you err! 'Tis now that I love best--love well! 'Tis that Which is thy true self, see!--that I adore! Were your brilliance dimmed. 

ROXANE: I should love still! Ay, if your beauty should to-day depart. . . CHRISTIAN: Say not so!

ROXANE: Ay, I say it!  CHRISTIAN: Ugly? How?

Christian speaks his mind...

CHRISTIAN: I will be loved myself--or not at all! --I'll go see what they do--there, at the end Of the post: speak to her, and then let her choose One of us two!

Cyrano's aside...

CYRANO (aside--drawing his sword): Ay, and let me die to-day, Since, all unconscious, she mourns me--in him!

Cyrano reveals all to Roxane...

CYRANO: His letter! Ah! you promised me one day That I should read it.
ROXANE: What would you?--His letter?
CYRANO: Yes, I would fain,--to-day.  
CYRANO (reading): 'Roxane, adieu! I soon must die! This very night, beloved; and I Feel my soul heavy with love untold. I die! No more, as in days of old, My loving, longing eyes will feast On your least gesture--ay, the least! I mind me the way you touch your cheek With your finger, softly, as you speak! Ah me! I know that gesture well! My heart cries out!--I cry "Farewell"!'  
ROXANE: You read in such a voice--so strange--and yet-- It is not the first time I hear that voice!  
CYRANO: 'Here, dying, and there, in the land on high, I am he who loved, who loves you,--I. . .' 
ROXANE: How can you read? It is too dark to see!  
CYRANO: Roxane! 
ROXANE: 'Twas you! 
CYRANO: No, never; Roxane, no! 
 ROXANE: I see through all the generous counterfeit-- The letters--you! 
CYRANO: No. 
ROXANE: The sweet, mad love-words! You! 
CYRANO: No!  
ROXANE: The voice that thrilled the night--you, you! 
CYRANO: I swear you err. 
ROXANE: The soul--it was your soul!  
CYRANO: I loved you not. 
ROXANE: You loved me not? 
CYRANO: 'Twas he! 
ROXANE: You loved me! 
ROXANE: --Why, why keep silence all these fourteen years, When, on this letter, which he never wrote, The tears were your tears? 
CYRANO (holding out the letter to her): The bloodstains were his.

 Roxane...

I loved but once, yet twice I lose my love!

Cyrano gets the last word in...

I would not bid you mourn less faithfully That good, brave Christian: I would only ask That when my body shall be cold in clay You wear those sable mourning weeds for two, And mourn awhile for me, in mourning him.

 

 

© 2022 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

103. William Shakespeare's The Taming of the Clueless

William Shakespeare's Taming of the Clueless. Ian Doescher. 2020. [April] 192 pages. [Source: Library]

First sentence:
Jane: Cher--handsome, clever, rich--who had a home
Most comfortable, a happy disposition,
Seem'd to unite, wherever she did roam,
The blessings of existence's condition.

Premise/plot: Ian Doescher has adapted the movie Clueless for his Pop Shakespeare series. It is adaptation of an adaption. In the afterword, he noted that he read Emma and watched Clueless before beginning his work. He also noted that he thinks that the plot of Clueless comes closest to something William Shakespeare would have written--in comparison with the other titles he's written/adapted.

So if you've seen the movie Clueless, you know the premise and plot of this one. Balthasar appears throughout singing the movie's soundtrack!

Behold, beyond the window,
'neath the sky,
The rushing carriages do pass thee by,
Whilst I do sit, to loneliness resign'd,
And ponder wherefore questions fill
my mind.
'Tis Friday night! I feel the soothing
heat
And search this filthy city for a beat--
Downtown, the young ones go,
hey nonny non,
Downtown, the young ones grow,
hey nonny hey!
We are the children of America,
The children we of new America.

and

Where didst thou go? Where didst thou go?
Mine emptiness doth grow.
Where didst thou go? Where didst thou go?
I'm lost, and fain would know.

You can expect to find all the most memorable, iconic lines from the movie...

DIONNE: Didst see? Thou pass'd a sign that bid thee stop--
'Twas large and red, octagonally shap'd--
Yet thou drove on like thou wert being chas'd.
CHER: A pause complete I register'd therein.


TRAVIS
—Unexpected!
No speech prepar’d I for this honor.
These few words, though, I’d gladly utter:
The tardy life’s the work of many—
My tardiness by many people
Created was. Yea, I am grateful
Unto my parents, ne’er rides giving,
The drivers of the L. A. buses
Who took a chance upon an unknown.
Last—not the least—the wonderful crew
At old McDonalds Inn, that spendeth
Their hours at cooking Egg McMuffins,
Sans which I never might be tardy.


CHER
Full well I know th’exhaustion of thy heart.
Still, though, I’ll warrant sport shall do us good—
Of late my body feels most heiferlike,
All weight and hips and udders ev’rywhere,
Like I had stomachs four that I must fill.
Today I had two bowls of Special K,
Three pieces of delightful turkey bacon,
A full hand’s worth of popp’d corn most delicious,
Five peanut butter M and Ms—

CHER
Though I’d not be a traitor to my age,
No turncoat to my generation bold—
I do confess confusion and dismay.
The way lads dress is nothing short of odd,
As if they fell, like apples, from their beds,
Adorn’d themselves in poorly fitting pants—
More like broad bags than pantaloons, in troth—
Then cover greasy hair with filthy caps,
Which they wear backward and proclaim it style.
In public they appear array’d as such,
And should we women swoon to see them so?
Nay, I think not, and never shall be sway’d!
To search for lads in high school is a quest
As useless as the hunt for meaning in
The dramas of the actor Pauly Shore—
The nation’s jester: a most dull fool he,
And none but libertines delight in him.

CHER
Eureka, I have fall’n in love with Josh!
Josh, he whom I have known since I was small,
Who tickles me and jabs me when nearby,
Who gives me cause to smile when I am sad,
Whose presence is a comfort in itself,
Who help’d me learn to drive my carriage well,
Whom I do dearly love to torment so,
Who, all these years, hath been a friend to me—
By heaven, it is he I love, none other!
Completely, totally, and majorly
My heart doth move toward him utterly!

My thoughts: I thought this was a super-fun read. It was fun, silly, enjoyable. A great way to spend a weekend. 

 

 

© 2021 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

14. An Ideal Husband

An Ideal Husband. Oscar Wilde. 1893. 78 pages. [Source: Bought]

First sentence:

Mrs. Marchmont. Going on to the Hartlocks’ to-night, Margaret?

Lady Basildon. I suppose so. Are you?

Mrs. Marchmont. Yes. Horribly tedious parties they give, don’t they?

Premise/plot: An Ideal Husband is a play by Oscar Wilde originally published in 1893. It opens with a party of sorts. Mrs. Cheveley finds a way to get an invitation so that she can blackmail Sir Robert Chiltern, an under-secretary for foreign affairs. She has a letter from his past--they had a mutual friends years ago--that could do him major damage politically if it's brought to light. She wants him to change his mind and more importantly change his speech and public stance on a matter. (She'll benefit financially from this change of opinion). He wants to say NO, NO, NEVER...but the idea of losing his wife's good opinion not to mention the good opinion of society at large and the government...well...he's tempted to give in. He confides in his oldest friend, Lord Goring; Goring's advice NEVER GIVE IN, NEVER SURRENDER. He wants a chance to find a different solution to this problem. But can he outwit Mrs. Cheveley? 

Of course there are a few more under stories going on that make this one a wee bit more complex than my summary. (Like Mabel Chiltern (Robert's sister) courtship with Lord Goring).

My thoughts: I am really enjoying reading Wilde's plays! This one has to do with discretion/indiscretion, public opinion, morality, and relationships. And POLITICS. It was really such a treat to read this one.

Quotes:

Mabel Chiltern. [Coming up to Lord Caversham.] Why do you call Lord Goring good-for-nothing?
Lord Caversham. Because he leads such an idle life.
Mabel Chiltern. How can you say such a thing? Why, he rides in the Row at ten o’clock in the morning, goes to the Opera three times a week, changes his clothes at least five times a day, and dines out every night of the season. You don’t call that leading an idle life, do you?

Sir Robert Chiltern. What an appalling philosophy that sounds! To attempt to classify you, Mrs. Cheveley, would be an impertinence. But may I ask, at heart, are you an optimist or a pessimist? Those seem to be the only two fashionable religions left to us nowadays.
Mrs. Cheveley. Oh, I’m neither. Optimism begins in a broad grin, and Pessimism ends with blue spectacles. Besides, they are both of them merely poses.
Sir Robert Chiltern. You prefer to be natural?
Mrs. Cheveley. Sometimes. But it is such a very difficult pose to keep up.

 Mrs. Cheveley. Ah! the strength of women comes from the fact that psychology cannot explain us. Men can be analysed, women . . . merely adored.

Mrs. Cheveley. Questions are never indiscreet. Answers sometimes are.

Mabel Chiltern. What an absurd reason!
Lord Goring. All reasons are absurd.

Lord Goring. I love talking about nothing, father. It is the only thing I know anything about.
Lord Caversham. You seem to me to be living entirely for pleasure.
Lord Goring. What else is there to live for, father? Nothing ages like happiness.

Lord Goring. I adore political parties. They are the only place left to us where people don’t talk politics.
Lady Basildon. I delight in talking politics. I talk them all day long. But I can’t bear listening to them. I don’t know how the unfortunate men in the House stand these long debates.
Lord Goring. By never listening.
Lady Basildon. Really?
Lord Goring. [In his most serious manner.] Of course. You see, it is a very dangerous thing to listen. If one listens one may be convinced; and a man who allows himself to be convinced by an argument is a thoroughly unreasonable person.

Lord Goring. You should go to bed, Miss Mabel.
Mabel Chiltern. Lord Goring!
Lord Goring. My father told me to go to bed an hour ago. I don’t see why I shouldn’t give you the same advice. I always pass on good advice. It is the only thing to do with it. It is never of any use to oneself.

Lord Goring. Life is never fair, Robert. And perhaps it is a good thing for most of us that it is not.

Lord Goring. [Turning round.] Well, she wore far too much rouge last night, and not quite enough clothes. That is always a sign of despair in a woman.

Lord Goring. It is always worth while asking a question, though it is not always worth while answering one.

Lord Goring. [After a long pause.] Nobody is incapable of doing a foolish thing. Nobody is incapable of doing a wrong thing.

Lord Goring. [Rising.] No, Lady Chiltern, I am not a Pessimist. Indeed I am not sure that I quite know what Pessimism really means. All I do know is that life cannot be understood without much charity, cannot be lived without much charity. It is love, and not German philosophy, that is the true explanation of this world, whatever may be the explanation of the next. And if you are ever in trouble, Lady Chiltern, trust me absolutely, and I will help you in every way I can. If you ever want me, come to me for my assistance, and you shall have it. Come at once to me.

Mabel Chiltern. Well, Tommy has proposed to me again. Tommy really does nothing but propose to me. He proposed to me last night in the music-room, when I was quite unprotected, as there was an elaborate trio going on. I didn’t dare to make the smallest repartee, I need hardly tell you. If I had, it would have stopped the music at once. Musical people are so absurdly unreasonable. They always want one to be perfectly dumb at the very moment when one is longing to be absolutely deaf. Then he proposed to me in broad daylight this morning, in front of that dreadful statue of Achilles. Really, the things that go on in front of that work of art are quite appalling. The police should interfere. At luncheon I saw by the glare in his eye that he was going to propose again, and I just managed to check him in time by assuring him that I was a bimetallist. Fortunately I don’t know what bimetallism means. And I don’t believe anybody else does either. But the observation crushed Tommy for ten minutes. He looked quite shocked. And then Tommy is so annoying in the way he proposes. If he proposed at the top of his voice, I should not mind so much. That might produce some effect on the public. But he does it in a horrid confidential way. When Tommy wants to be romantic he talks to one just like a doctor. I am very fond of Tommy, but his methods of proposing are quite out of date. I wish, Gertrude, you would speak to him, and tell him that once a week is quite often enough to propose to any one, and that it should always be done in a manner that attracts some attention.

Lady Markby. [Reflecting.] You are remarkably modern, Mabel. A little too modern, perhaps. Nothing is so dangerous as being too modern. One is apt to grow old-fashioned quite suddenly. I have known many instances of it.

Lord Goring. Other people are quite dreadful. The only possible society is oneself.
Phipps. Yes, my lord.
Lord Goring. To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance, Phipps.

Lord Goring. I am glad you have called. I am going to give you some good advice.
Mrs. Cheveley. Oh! pray don’t. One should never give a woman anything that she can’t wear in the evening.

 

 

© 2021 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

13. Lady Windermere's Fan

Lady Windermere's Fan. Oscar Wilde. 1893. 70 pages. [Source: Bought]

First sentence:

Parker.  Is your ladyship at home this afternoon?

Lady Windermere.  Yes—who has called?

Parker.  Lord Darlington, my lady.

Lady Windermere.  [Hesitates for a moment.]  Show him up—and I’m at home to any one who calls.

Parker.  Yes, my lady.

 Premise/plot: Lady Windermere's Fan is a play by Oscar Wilde. Lady Winderemere (Margaret) learns on her birthday that her husband has been keeping company with a 'bad woman' with a past. They've just been married two years, and she's always thought he was most trustworthy. But when one person strongly hints and another out and out tells her that her husband has been paying to keep another woman, well, she's shaken. She confronts her husband, and he insists that she invites her to her birthday party--or birthday ball as the case may be. She's insulted, upset, adamant. She will NOT put up with such treatment! But a card and invitation is sent out--and she comes, Mrs. Erlynne comes. 

 Meanwhile while this 'bad woman' is dancing and charming the men at the party, one man in particular is trying to charm Lady Windermere. Lord Darlington is professing his love; he truly, madly, deeply loves, loves, loves her. Won't she run away with him? After all who could blame her?! Her husband is inviting THAT WOMAN to her birthday party, and openly socializing with her!!! Surely a good woman would be justified in leaving her husband for another man? Even if she does have a baby with her husband...

Will Lady Windermere say YES to Lord Darlington? Will Lady Windermere forgive her husband? What would a good woman do under the circumstances?

My thoughts:  I really enjoyed this one!!! I am thinking this one might be less well known--as opposed to The Importance of Being Earnest--so I won't spoil the secrets of Lady Windermere's Fan...but it's a GOOD read. In some ways it reminds me of HIGH SOCIETY which is one of my most favorite, favorite, favorite musicals. (Although Wilde's play doesn't have Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, and Louis Armstrong.) 

I definitely enjoyed the writing and the characters.

Quotes: 

Lord Darlington.  [Still seated L.C.]  Oh, nowadays so many conceited people go about Society pretending to be good, that I think it shows rather a sweet and modest disposition to pretend to be bad.  Besides, there is this to be said.  If you pretend to be good, the world takes you very seriously.  If you pretend to be bad, it doesn’t.  Such is the astounding stupidity of optimism.

Lady Windermere.  [Leaning back on the sofa.]  You look on me as being behind the age.—Well, I am!  I should be sorry to be on the same level as an age like this.
Lord Darlington.  You think the age very bad?
Lady Windermere.  Yes.  Nowadays people seem to look on life as a speculation.  It is not a speculation.  It is a sacrament.  Its ideal is Love.  Its purification is sacrifice.
Lord Darlington.  [Smiling.]  Oh, anything is better than being sacrificed!
Lady Windermere.  [Leaning forward.]  Don’t say that.

 Lord Darlington.  Do you know I am afraid that good people do a great deal of harm in this world.  Certainly the greatest harm they do is that they make badness of such extraordinary importance.  It is absurd to divide people into good and bad.  People are either charming or tedious.  I take the side of the charming, and you, Lady Windermere, can’t help belonging to them.

Lady Windermere.  Why do you talk so trivially about life, then?
Lord Darlington.  Because I think that life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about it. 

Duchess of Berwick.  That’s quite right, dear.  Crying is the refuge of plain women but the ruin of pretty ones.   

Lord Darlington.  My life—my whole life.  Take it, and do with it what you will. . . . I love you—love you as I have never loved any living thing.  From the moment I met you I loved you, loved you blindly, adoringly, madly!  You did not know it then—you know it now!  Leave this house to-night.  I won’t tell you that the world matters nothing, or the world’s voice, or the voice of society.  They matter a great deal.  They matter far too much.  But there are moments when one has to choose between living one’s own life, fully, entirely, completely—or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands.  You have that moment now.  Choose!  Oh, my love, choose.

Cecil Graham.  My own business always bores me to death.  I prefer other people’s.

Cecil Graham.  [Coming towards him L.C.]  My dear Arthur, I never talk scandal.  I only talk gossip.
Lord Windermere.  What is the difference between scandal and gossip?
Cecil Graham.  Oh! gossip is charming!  History is merely gossip.  But scandal is gossip made tedious by morality.  Now, I never moralise.  A man who moralises is usually a hypocrite, and a woman who moralises is invariably plain.  There is nothing in the whole world so unbecoming to a woman as a Nonconformist conscience.  And most women know it, I’m glad to say.

Dumby.  I congratulate you, my dear fellow.  In this world there are only two tragedies.  One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.  The last is much the worst; the last is a real tragedy!  But I am interested to hear she does not love you.

Cecil Graham.  What is a cynic?  [Sitting on the back of the sofa.]
Lord Darlington.  A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.
Cecil Graham.  And a sentimentalist, my dear Darlington, is a man who sees an absurd value in everything, and doesn’t know the market price of any single thing.
Lord Darlington.  You always amuse me, Cecil.  You talk as if you were a man of experience.
Cecil Graham.  I am.  [Moves up to front off fireplace.]
Lord Darlington.  You are far too young!
Cecil Graham.  That is a great error.  Experience is a question of instinct about life.  I have got it.  Tuppy hasn’t.  Experience is the name Tuppy gives to his mistakes.  That is all.  [Lord Augustus looks round indignantly.]
Dumby.  Experience is the name every one gives to their mistakes.

Dumby.  It’s no use talking to Tuppy.  You might just as well talk to a brick wall.
Cecil Graham.  But I like talking to a brick wall—it’s the only thing in the world that never contradicts me!  Tuppy!

Lady Windermere.  We all have ideals in life.  At least we all should have.  Mine is my mother.
Mrs. Erlynne.  Ideals are dangerous things.  Realities are better.  They wound, but they’re better.
Lady Windermere.  [Shaking her head.]  If I lost my ideals, I should lose everything.
Mrs. Erlynne.  Everything?

© 2021 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

9. The Importance of Being Earnest

The Importance of Being Earnest. Oscar Wilde. 1895. 76 pages. [Source: Bought]

First sentence:

Algernon.  Did you hear what I was playing, Lane?

Lane.  I didn’t think it polite to listen, sir.

Algernon.  I’m sorry for that, for your sake.  I don’t play accurately—any one can play accurately—but I play with wonderful expression.  As far as the piano is concerned, sentiment is my forte.  I keep science for Life.

Premise/plot: The Importance of Being Earnest is romantic comedy--a play--written by Oscar Wilde. It concerns two friends and their adventures/misadventures in the town and country. Algernon Moncrieff, one of our two heroes, claims to be a confirmed bachelor. Marriage is NOT on his to do list. John Worthing (aka Jack) has entirely different plans. He's madly in love with a young woman--a woman who happens to be Algernon's first cousin--Gwendolen Fairfax. The problem? Well, Jack is living a double life. In the COUNTRY he's Jack Worthing (with a ward named Cecily). In the CITY (London) he's ERNEST B. WORTHING. His naughty, wicked brother Ernest is Jack's excuse for going to the city so often and staying away. Algernon thinks it's all good fun--when he stumbles onto his friend's secret--because he has such an acquaintance himself (though he's not pretending to be anyone else--yet), Mr. Bunbury is his COUNTRY friend who's always on death's door. 

If Gwendolen accepts his proposal, then Jack plans to kill off Ernest Worthing. (Even if it makes his ward, Cecily, upset. She fancies herself madly, deeply in love with Ernest Worthing. She wants to REFORM that BAD BOY.  

When Jack returns to the country and informs the reverend of his brother's death, he's in for a shock. His "brother" just arrived and plans on staying a week at least! 

There's plenty to laugh about in this three act play.

My thoughts: I really LOVED this one. It was just a joy to read. Mom said that this was my grandma's favorite play. I can see why! It is hilarious and oh-so-quotable. 

Quotes:

When one is in town one amuses oneself. When one is in the country one amuses other people. (Jack)

Oh! it is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one should read and what one shouldn’t. More than half of modern culture depends on what one shouldn’t read. (Algernon)

Some aunts are tall, some aunts are not tall. That is a matter that surely an aunt may be allowed to decide for herself. You seem to think that every aunt should be exactly like your aunt! (Jack)

The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Modern life would be very tedious if it were either, and modern literature a complete impossibility! (Algernon)

 

I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them. (Algernon)

 

Lady Bracknell. Good afternoon, dear Algernon, I hope you are behaving very well.

Algernon. I’m feeling very well, Aunt Augusta.

 

Gwendolen. Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact. And I often wish that in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative. For me you have always had an irresistible fascination. Even before I met you I was far from indifferent to you. [Jack looks at her in amazement.] We live, as I hope you know, Mr. Worthing, in an age of ideals. The fact is constantly mentioned in the more expensive monthly magazines, and has reached the provincial pulpits, I am told; and my ideal has always been to love some one of the name of Ernest. There is something in that name that inspires absolute confidence. The moment Algernon first mentioned to me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined to love you.

Jack. You really love me, Gwendolen?

Gwendolen. Passionately!

Jack. Darling! You don’t know how happy you’ve made me.

Gwendolen. My own Ernest!

Jack. But you don’t really mean to say that you couldn’t love me if my name wasn’t Ernest?

Gwendolen. But your name is Ernest.

Jack. Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was something else? Do you mean to say you couldn’t love me then?

 

Lady Bracknell. [Pencil and note-book in hand.] I feel bound to tell you that you are not down on my list of eligible young men, although I have the same list as the dear Duchess of Bolton has. We work together, in fact. However, I am quite ready to enter your name, should your answers be what a really affectionate mother requires. Do you smoke?

Jack. Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.

Lady Bracknell. I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an occupation of some kind. There are far too many idle men in London as it is. How old are you?

Jack. Twenty-nine.

Lady Bracknell. A very good age to be married at. I have always been of opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing. Which do you know?

Jack. [After some hesitation.] I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.

Lady Bracknell. I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square.

Jack. I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever nowadays. You can’t go anywhere without meeting clever people. The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to goodness we had a few fools left.

Algernon. We have.

Jack. I should extremely like to meet them. What do they talk about?

Algernon. The fools? Oh! about the clever people, of course.

Jack. What fools!

 

Miss Prism. Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diary that we all carry about with us.

Cecily. Yes, but it usually chronicles the things that have never happened, and couldn’t possibly have happened. I believe that Memory is responsible for nearly all the three-volume novels that Mudie sends us.

Miss Prism. Do not speak slightingly of the three-volume novel, Cecily. I wrote one myself in earlier days.

Cecily. Did you really, Miss Prism? How wonderfully clever you are! I hope it did not end happily? I don’t like novels that end happily. They depress me so much.

Miss Prism. The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means.

Algernon. When I am in trouble, eating is the only thing that consoles me. Indeed, when I am in really great trouble, as any one who knows me intimately will tell you, I refuse everything except food and drink. At the present moment I am eating muffins because I am unhappy. Besides, I am particularly fond of muffins. [Rising.]

Jack. [Rising.] Well, that is no reason why you should eat them all in that greedy way. [Takes muffins from Algernon.]

Algernon. [Offering tea-cake.] I wish you would have tea-cake instead. I don’t like tea-cake.

Jack. Good heavens! I suppose a man may eat his own muffins in his own garden.

Algernon. But you have just said it was perfectly heartless to eat muffins.

Jack. I said it was perfectly heartless of you, under the circumstances. That is a very different thing.

Algernon. That may be. But the muffins are the same. [He seizes the muffin-dish from Jack.]

Gwendolen. The fact that they did not follow us at once into the house, as any one else would have done, seems to me to show that they have some sense of shame left.

Cecily. They have been eating muffins. That looks like repentance.

Gwendolen. [After a pause.] They don’t seem to notice us at all. Couldn’t you cough?

Cecily. But I haven’t got a cough.

© 2021 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

8. Pygmalion

Pygmalion. George Bernard Shaw. 1912. 96 pages. [Source: Bought]

First sentence: ACT I Covent Garden at 11.15 p.m. Torrents of heavy summer rain. Cab whistles blowing frantically in all directions. Pedestrians running for shelter into the market and under the portico of St. Paul's Church, where there are already several people, among them a lady and her daughter in evening dress. They are all peering out gloomily at the rain, except one man with his back turned to the rest, who seems wholly preoccupied with a notebook in which he is writing busily.

If you've ever seen the musical MY FAIR LADY, then you know the basic skeletal  plot of Pygmalion. That's my short and concise summary. 

It has been ages since I've seen the film Pygmalion starring Leslie Howard and Wendy Hiller. I can't say if the play differs a little or a LOT from that film adaptation. 

I can tell you that the play differs GREATLY from the musical MY FAIR LADY. And I don't just mean the obvious: lack of singing. I mean My Fair Lady fleshes out the play by adding dozens of scenes. In the play, for example, we have NO SCENES depicting the months Eliza Doolittle was being trained by Professor Higgins. We go from her offering to pay for lessons to her first debut months later with NOTHING in between. Her first appearance is at his mother's house. It is at his mother's house she first meets Freddy Hill. (There is no racing scene). The big finale is a garden party--nothing so grand and phenomenal as in the musical. And the ending, of course, the ending is what has changed the most.

The play does offer some of the great lines that are retained in My Fair Lady. 

It is recognizable as My Fair Lady.

But in my opinion, My Fair Lady is a thousand times better than the play Pygmalion. Because we actually get more time with the characters--to see their strengths, their weaknesses, their interactions with one another. The lines have more resonance if you've seen HIGGINS behavior throughout. 

Quotes: 

Happy is the man who can make a living by his hobby! You can spot an Irishman or a Yorkshireman by his brogue. I can place any man within six miles. I can place him within two miles in London. Sometimes within two streets.

You see this creature with her kerbstone English: the English that will keep her in the gutter to the end of her days. Well, sir, in three months I could pass that girl off as a duchess at an ambassador's garden party. I could even get her a place as lady's maid or shop assistant, which requires better English.

THE FLOWER GIRL. Oh, we are proud! He ain't above giving lessons, not him: I heard him say so. Well, I ain't come here to ask for any compliment; and if my money's not good enough I can go elsewhere. HIGGINS. Good enough for what? THE FLOWER GIRL. Good enough for ye—oo. Now you know, don't you? I'm come to have lessons, I am. And to pay for em too: make no mistake. HIGGINS [stupent] WELL!!! [Recovering his breath with a gasp] What do you expect me to say to you? THE FLOWER GIRL. Well, if you was a gentleman, you might ask me to sit down, I think. Don't I tell you I'm bringing you business?

THE FLOWER GIRL. Oh, we are proud! He ain't above giving lessons, not him: I heard him say so. Well, I ain't come here to ask for any compliment; and if my money's not good enough I can go elsewhere.

HIGGINS. If I decide to teach you, I'll be worse than two fathers to you. Here [he offers her his silk handkerchief]! LIZA. What's this for? HIGGINS. To wipe your eyes. To wipe any part of your face that feels moist. Remember: that's your handkerchief; and that's your sleeve. Don't mistake the one for the other if you wish to become a lady in a shop.

HIGGINS. To wipe your eyes. To wipe any part of your face that feels moist. Remember: that's your handkerchief; and that's your sleeve. Don't mistake the one for the other if you wish to become a lady in a shop.

HIGGINS [tempted, looking at her] It's almost irresistible. She's so deliciously low—so horribly dirty— LIZA [protesting extremely] Ah—ah—ah—ah—ow—ow—oooo!!! I ain't dirty: I washed my face and hands afore I come, I did.

What is life but a series of inspired follies?

Time enough to think of the future when you haven't any future to think of.

Besides, do any of us understand what we are doing? If we did, would we ever do it?

HIGGINS. Nonsense! I know I have no small talk; but people don't mind. [He sits on the settee]. MRS. HIGGINS. Oh! don't they? Small talk indeed! What about your large talk? Really, dear, you mustn't stay.

The difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she's treated. I shall always be a flower girl to Professor Higgins, because he always treats me as a flower girl, and always will; but I know I can be a lady to you, because you always treat me as a lady, and always will.       

I have forgotten my own language, and can speak nothing but yours.

LIZA. You want me back only to pick up your slippers and put up with your tempers and fetch and carry for you. HIGGINS. I haven't said I wanted you back at all. LIZA. Oh, indeed. Then what are we talking about? HIGGINS. About you, not about me. If you come back I shall treat you just as I have always treated you. I can't change my nature; and I don't intend to change my manners. My manners are exactly the same as Colonel Pickering's. LIZA. That's not true. He treats a flower girl as if she was a duchess. HIGGINS. And I treat a duchess as if she was a flower girl.

HIGGINS. About you, not about me. If you come back I shall treat you just as I have always treated you. I can't change my nature; and I don't intend to change my manners. My manners are exactly the same as Colonel Pickering's. The great secret, Eliza, is not having bad manners or good manners or any other particular sort of manners, but having the same manner for all human souls: in short, behaving as if you were in Heaven, where there are no third-class carriages, and one soul is as good as another.

HIGGINS [irritated] The question is not whether I treat you rudely, but whether you ever heard me treat anyone else better.

LIZA. So you are a motor bus: all bounce and go, and no consideration for anyone. But I can do without you: don't think I can't.

Sneering doesn't become either the human face or the human soul.

HIGGINS: I don't and won't trade in affection. You call me a brute because you couldn't buy a claim on me by fetching my slippers and finding my spectacles. You were a fool: I think a woman fetching a man's slippers is a disgusting sight: did I ever fetch YOUR slippers? I think a good deal more of you for throwing them in my face. No use slaving for me and then saying you want to be cared for: who cares for a slave? If you come back, come back for the sake of good fellowship; for you'll get nothing else.       

© 2021 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

122. The Miracle Worker

The Miracle Worker. William Gibson. 1956. 128 pages. [Source: Bought]

First sentence: Doctor: She'll live. Kate: Thank God.

Premise/plot: The Miracle Worker is a play by William Gibson about Helen Keller and her teacher, Annie Sullivan. The play opens ever so briefly with Helen as a toddler--two years of age or so--when her parents discover her loss of vision and hearing, that she is both deaf and blind. Much of the play occurs years later--I believe when she is six?--as Miss Annie Sullivan arrives to 'teach' Helen Keller. The mother, Kate, is ever-hopeful. But there are plenty in the house that are super skeptical. How can Helen learn anything? How can Helen be taught how to behave? Surely home isn't the best place to keep such a beastly creature as Helen? That isn't fair to the household, is it? But Miss Sullivan is given a trial period to see what she can do--if anything--with young Helen. Can Miss Sullivan work a miracle and teach Helen a way to connect and communicate with the world. Can she give her language and understanding?

My thoughts: I remember being absolutely WOWed watching the Miracle Worker movies on television as a child. We had recorded both versions on the VCR. I just loved, loved, loved them both. There was something so wonderful about the story--something captivating. I remember *needing* to learn the sign language alphabet after watching the movies. And it's something that stuck with me. I would have loved to learn more sign at some point--but never did. 

When I saw the play for $2 I knew I had to buy it and read it. It's a good read, a quick read. I won't say it's as captivating to read as it is to watch. But it's good. I'm glad I read it. 

 

© 2020 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

10. Twelfth Night

Twelfth Night. William Shakespeare. 1601. 272 pages. [Source: Bought][Shakespeare play; Classic]

First sentence: If music be the food of love, play on;

 Premise/plot: Twins (Sebastian and Viola) are shipwrecked and separated. Adventures and misadventures await the pair in the coming weeks. Viola dresses as a man and takes a job in the service of Duke Orsino. Orsino is truly, madly, deeply in love with a woman, Olivia, who is mourning the death of her brother. Viola becomes his messenger--delivering his unwanted love letters. Olivia thinks that Viola is better than a letter. Sebastian, meanwhile, finds a few buddies to hang out with. As with all Shakespeare plays, this one has a few fools in it--not all fools are foolish though, mind you. Sometimes the fools have more common sense than all the main characters combined. For example,

CLOWN. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?
OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brother's death.
CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
OLIVIA. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
CLOWN. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

My thoughts: I always take this play for granted. It doesn't leap out at me as being MY FAVORITE. (The one that does leap out is MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.) But Twelfth Night is a pleasant--more than pleasant--diversion for a winter's night. It is a comedy with some GREAT lines. I absolutely LOVE and ADORE the first line, "If music be the food of love, play on." That may just be one of my favorite Shakespeare lines ever.

Here are a few of my favorites:

• Virtue that transgresses is but patch'd with sin; and sin that amends is but patch'd with virtue.
• If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief. 
• Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon'em. 
• Words are grown so false, I am loth to prove reason with them.
• Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun, it shines everywhere.

© 2020 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

William Shakespeare's Get Thee Back To the Future

William Shakespeare's Get Thee...Back to the Future! Ian Doescher. 2019. Quirk. 176 pages. [Source: Library]

First sentence: Now gentles, pray, your patience for this play./ In heart and mind, let fancy hold its sway—

Premise/plot: At long last readers can finally experience what it would have been like if William Shakespeare had penned Back to The Future!!! This perhaps may be a most excellent example of a book you never knew you needed.

The prologue sets the stage and asks the audience to imagine themselves four hundred years into the future in the New World. “View wonders! On our stage do we arrive—E’en late October, nineteen eighty-five.”

The five acts that follow are delightful both for their familiarity and unfamiliarity. Marty plays the lute, for example. But you’ve never heard Earth Angel or Johnny B. Good quite like this.

My thoughts: I absolutely have to find my copy of Back to the Future now. It’s been too long since I’ve seen it. This was a favorite growing up though I didn’t love all the movies in the trilogy equally. This play was awesome, fun, silly, clever. I loved how the author thought through things as if it was a play that could be acted on stage (players must have time to change costumes) instead of just a gimmicky novelty. I also loved the pops of actual Shakespeare lines.

Quotes:

Do you believe in love? So do our youth, And this, the heart of rock and roll we’ll hear, This music that the pow’r of love releaseth.

It is this power makes the world go round. ‘Tis strong and sudden, sent by heav’n above, It May just save thy life, this pow’r of love.

I parry, dodge, and drive e’en faster yer, To keep their bullets from their target—me! Yet faster,car, drive on, be fleet of wheel, Like chariots of fire leave all behind And in a blaze of glory help me ‘scape.

Surrender, Marty, to this blazing light, That thou mayst live again another night!

Be not so timid, lass. Thou likest me, And wantest Biff to give himself to thee.

I shall—because thou to our school art new—Grant thee, This once, a merciful reprieve. Now make thou like a tree, and thither flee.

O mistress mine, Earth angel mine, O darling of my heart, I’m thine. Shalt thou be mine, this year or next, Why leave my loving heart perplex’d? Sing nonny heigh, sing nonny ho, Earth angel sweet, come dwell below. O mistress mine, Earth angel mine, One I adore, who doth so shine. ‘‘Tis only thee for whom I care, And I shall love thee, pet, fore’er. Sing nonny heigh, sing nonny ho, Earth angel sweet, come dwell below.

Be ready for audacious episodes—Whither we go, we have no need of roads. 

© 2019 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

The Tempest

The Tempest. William Shakespeare. 1623. 127 pages. [Source: Bought]

Master: Boatswain!
Boatswain: Here, master: what cheer?
Master: Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.

Premise/plot: Miranda has grown up on an island only knowing her father, Prospero, and Caliban, an unpleasant fellow, the son of a witch. She's in for quite a surprise when a shipwreck brings more people to the island. The shipwreck is no accident; it is the work of her sorcerer father, Prospero, aided by ARIEL. Prospero has a complex, master plan.

Miranda falls MADLY, DEEPLY in love with the first man she sees, Ferdinand. Fortunately, I suppose, he likewise falls in love with her. This union might be phase two of her father's master plan...

My thoughts: I really enjoyed reading William Shakespeare's The Tempest. It was a new-to-me Shakespeare play. (There are still a good many in this category). I found the play to be compelling and easy to follow--relatively. Yes, it has POLITICS and SCHEMING. But this is all handled in a back-story or info dump. (This info dump actually puts Miranda to sleep.)

There are a few characters in The Tempest that seem like they are unnecessary or superfluous--Caliban and the two drunkards--but perhaps these are solely for comedic effect which doesn't translate well when it is just read and not performed.

Quotes:

MIRANDA If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.

[Enter ARIEL.] ARIEL All hail, great Master! grave sir, hail! 
I come To answer thy best pleasure; be’t to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curl’d clouds; to thy strong bidding task Ariel and all his quality.

MIRANDA I might call him A thing divine; for nothing natural I ever saw so noble.

MIRANDA Why speaks my father so ungently?
This Is the third man that e’er I saw; the first
That e’er I sigh’d for; pity move my father
To be inclined my way!

PROSPERO Soft, sir! one word more.
[Aside.] They are both in either’s powers: but this swift business
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
Make the prize light.

MIRANDA There’s nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: 
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with’t.

SEBASTIAN He receives comfort like cold porridge.

GONZALO It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
When you are cloudy. 

SEBASTIAN I do: and surely
It is a sleepy language, and thou speak’st
Out of thy sleep.
What is it thou didst say?
This is a strange repose, to be asleep
With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,
And yet so fast asleep.

SEBASTIAN Do so: to ebb, Hereditary sloth instructs me.

MIRANDA I am a fool
To weep at what I am glad of.

 PROSPERO Our revels now are ended.
These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
Leave not a rack behind.
We are such stuff 
As dreams are made on, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep.  

MIRANDA O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is!
O brave new world
That has such people in’t!

© 2019 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews