Books Read

I finally finished a book or two that had been hanging over me.

Before Christmas I finished the 'Pocket Essentials: Steven Soderbergh' by Jason Wood. Like most books in this series, the director comes out as a saint, the author/apostle finding nuggets of gold and pearls of wisdom in even his most obscure works (although I do agree on the positive appraisal of 'Schizopolis'). I have a lot of respect for Soderbergh, who has a lot of intelligence and something to say, but I would never rank him in the top tier (though who I would place there I'm not too sure these days). The book stopped at 'Ocean's Eleven', so we were spared Wood's excuses for 'Ocean's Twelve' or the needless remake of 'Solaris'. Nevertheless it was a pleasant trip through his back catalogue.

Last week I finally finished Russell's 'Problems of Philosophy'. You cannot expect me to refrain from anger when he resorts to Platonic Universals to back up his case (something Schopenhauer's 'The World as Will and Idea' annoyed me by doing too), but I perservered and in the end there were some insights to be gleaned. Still not convinced by Russell's argument though.

I also finished, 'The Power of Darkness', a collection of horror tales by Edith Nesbit. Despite my admiration for some of her work, even I have to admit that there is too much sentimentality too often throughout the collection. I suspect Nesbit, earning her living from her writing, had to appeal to magazines (and their audiences) that gave her little room for innovation. A very modern style is almost always apparent, and in her masterpieces, the much anthologised 'Man-size in Marble' and 'John Charrington's Wedding', and the lesser seen 'The Violet Car', 'The Shadow' and the caustic 'The Pavillion', she shows what she was capable of. Unfortunately she was also capable of pieces such as 'The Letter in Brown Ink' and 'The Five Senses'. On a positive note, there is something positive that can be said about each story in this collection and so ultimately it's something the horror buff ignores at his peril.

Digging for Diamonds

Well, I had the headache if not the fully fledged handover. That will teach me to drink strawberry beer!

 

I read a couple of stories ghostwritten by Lovecraft; 'The Last Case', 'Two Black Bottles', and 'The Thing in the Moonlight' There can be no tension where there is no possibility of surprise, and his formula is too uniform to offer that. The only enjoyment to be derived comes from the originality of each story's horror. In that respect he has a lot in common with television shows like (the oh, so enjoyable) 'Kolchak: The Night Stalker', and its descendent 'The X-Files'. Sadly the 'horrors' of these particular Lovecraft tales weren't too original either. Only the two-page 'The Thing in the Moonlight' had a real hint of the bizarre, though 'The Last Case' with its initial prison setting did put me in mind of 'Beyond Reanimator'.

 

In total contrast I picked up my Edith Nesbith collection then and read 'The Violet Car'. Edith Nesbit is famous predominantly for her children's books, particularly 'The Railway Children' and 'Five Children and It'. However, between these and her political activities (she was a member of the Fabian Society, the precursor to Labour), she also managed to write some very well-regarded ghost stories. When they are good, as in the case of 'Man-size in Marble', they are very, very good. 'The Violet Car' is very, very good.

 

Written when cars were still a novelty, it tells in an admirably, though deceptively, simple way of the effects a car accident has on an ordinary farming couple. A young nurse is called in to help, but exactly who is she meant to help and how? In its determined play on the is it real/all in the mind dilemma, Nesbit does unpretentiously what more heavyweight authors like Henry James exerted far more (wasted?) effort to achieve. She even manages to make a little feminist dig at the patriarchal establishment by misdirecting us about the true 'mental case'. Not a word of its ten or so pages is wasted, and the first person narrative of an older woman reminiscing on an episode of her younger years is sprinkled with sad, unobtrusive wisdom. It reminded me a little of Oliver Onions' similarly understated 'Rooum'. A very talented writer was E. Nesbit.

 

There are little gems like this scattered throughout the genre, though you have to do some digging and you'll probably get dirty in the process. Finding one though is always a pleasure.