I have been put in my place. From One far more knowledgeable on the subject than myself, I have been informed of yet a third representation of "Mansfield Park," which, I must admit, does bear a close resemblance to the novel. I've only seen clips, but the 1983 version seems to do justice to Mary Crawford, Lady Bertram, Henry Crawford, and Edmund, although I am as yet unconvinced regarding Fanny. Perhaps I am merely partial to the 2007 version ... but the 80's style of dress and hair, and cinematography, can only pale in comparison to our double blessing and curse of modern technology.
Thus humbled, I leave it to you: which is your preferred version of the three? And yes, that means a week-long marathon of Mansfield Park. I give you Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday to read the novel (at 50-odd pages a day, that's a considerable amount), and then Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to see the three versions. Virtus tentamine gaudet! And see how many younger siblings (or scientifically-minded friends) you can bore into exhaustion with regency costume, "excessively diverting" language, and ten thousand a year?
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
*WARNING* : RANT
For loyal Jane Austen fans everywhere: BEWARE the TREACHERY of the 1999 version of "Mansfield Park."
Ok, that's a little extreme. Let's put it this way:
This week, I'm writing my paper on Jane Austen's novel "Mansfield Park." Having never before read the book (shocking, I know!) I was very much excited to spend some 3 or 4 hours doing so, and calling it "homework" only made the story all the more exciting! Anyway, reading it, as I did, with as intellectual and analytic an eye as I could, I formed a very solid idea in my head of the plot structure, themes, and especially of the characters. So it was with some hesitation, but an exceptionally strong curiosity, that I looked up the film on Youtube. The version I found first was the 2007 Masterpiece Theatre (which, by the way, I must add: I love MT, and have yet to be disappointed!) version with Billie Piper and James D'Arcy (not a prominent role, but fun to recognize nonetheless). It was EXCELLENT! I loved it! I was so happy to see such wonderful portrayals of all the characters! Of course, as a TV version, it could only go so far with plot, resulting in the cutting of a number of scenes, BUT NOT to the detriment of the overall piece. The characters were beautifully true to the story.
NOT SO for the 1999 version. Admittedly, Edmund is more the dashing young fellow in this version, and the scenery is to die for, but from the very start, from the very first scene Fanny is all wrong. After reading the book, you can hardly bring yourself to like the girl, for all her awkward, humiliating, humiliated, insipid, self-deprecating humbling awkwardness. She hardly speaks a word, has no wit or opinion or thought to speak of, crumbles and cries and quakes before the world - and yet, in spite of it all, she is gentleness itself; kind, patient, is not envious, is not puffed up. She is charity itself. And popular opinion is against her because of this: because she thinks only of others, because she is willing to be subservient and silent upon every reproach. Critics whine: why doesn't she stand up for herself? Where's her backbone, her individuality, her personality, her determination, her strength? What they don't understand is that her weakness is her strength. In her silence is her voice.
Not so our little 1999 heroine,the self-assured upstart snarky little bright young thing. In her first scene, she's making up stories to comfort her younger sister. From the incorrigible young age of nine, she's interested in the issue of slavery. For pete's sake, if you read the BOOK, she bawls the entire trip to Mansfield, the entire first week there, and then off and on during the next eight years. EIGHT YEARS of pining and whining. And feministic pouty little miss adventure-and-curiosity has the nerve to stare petulantly into the camera and tell us how bored she is. "Voracious" reading? WRITING? Quirky? Yes. Funny? Maybe. Accurate? Emphatically NOT.
[And, on that note, NO subtlety whatsoever. Which is the essence of Austen's writing and wit ... I wince and wince and wince at the portrayals of Mrs. Norris, Tom Bertram, Rushworth, etc. But that shall be another rant, another day.]
[Oh! and the seduction scene in the East Room? KOWTOWING to our modern day society who have no brains or wit enough to understand what's going on unless it is played out in detail in front of them, to the great perversion of characters ... Edmund? For example? SERIOUSLY? And Mary: CREEPY.]
Why portray her as Alice in Wonderland? Why portray her as Jo March? Why portray her as Jane Austen herself? Or even Lizzy Bennet? Why portray her as anything other than Fanny Price??? Let the other girls stick to their own stories! Fanny has enough people pushing her around and telling her how to behave; can't we give her a little room and let her BE HERSELF? Isn't that what modern society has been drumming into our heads these past, what, fifty years?
So, maybe I'm a purist. So, maybe I'm a perfectionist. So, maybe I'm reading too much into the story ... or staying up too late at night. Very probably yes. But while studying literature, it becomes all the more obvious and irksome when such great works are misrepresented; and it also becomes vitally important for these works and their characters to be well portrayed for the *sigh* dare I say it? Uncultured masses. Ok, that sounds snobbish. Let's say, the general population. Those who haven't read the books, but get dragged by the hair to see the films (or fall asleep in the middle of them on the family room couch). And for the not-so-general population as well, those who have read and enjoyed and can appreciate the books; are they not irritated ... even the slightest bit ... to see things shown in ways they are not meant to be? What about future generations,when books become extinct and stuffy old archeologists turn to ancient, worm-eaten fragments of VHS film for their information, holding the shreds up to the light to see images of strange people in bird feathers and large hair, ornate dresses (probably worn for complicated rain-dance or sacrifical rituals) and bizarre footear; and the discovery of a DVD player will win the Nobel Prize! Just think of how they will be able to see us all ... *sigh*
Ok, getting extreme again.
Anyway, READ THE BOOK. READ THE BOOK. READ THE BOOK.
Then use your God-given gifts of intelligence, reason, and free will - watch the films, and form your own opinions. [now that I have told you what to think, muwahahahahaha]
Until later!
Yours truly :)
And just sayin', Mary Crawford looks TERRIBLE. Lady Bertram WORSE. But Julia is BEAUTIFUL. MOLLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
... if you haven't, READ and SEE and DELIGHT IN Mary Gaskell's "Wives and Daughters." Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!
Ok, that's a little extreme. Let's put it this way:
This week, I'm writing my paper on Jane Austen's novel "Mansfield Park." Having never before read the book (shocking, I know!) I was very much excited to spend some 3 or 4 hours doing so, and calling it "homework" only made the story all the more exciting! Anyway, reading it, as I did, with as intellectual and analytic an eye as I could, I formed a very solid idea in my head of the plot structure, themes, and especially of the characters. So it was with some hesitation, but an exceptionally strong curiosity, that I looked up the film on Youtube. The version I found first was the 2007 Masterpiece Theatre (which, by the way, I must add: I love MT, and have yet to be disappointed!) version with Billie Piper and James D'Arcy (not a prominent role, but fun to recognize nonetheless). It was EXCELLENT! I loved it! I was so happy to see such wonderful portrayals of all the characters! Of course, as a TV version, it could only go so far with plot, resulting in the cutting of a number of scenes, BUT NOT to the detriment of the overall piece. The characters were beautifully true to the story.
NOT SO for the 1999 version. Admittedly, Edmund is more the dashing young fellow in this version, and the scenery is to die for, but from the very start, from the very first scene Fanny is all wrong. After reading the book, you can hardly bring yourself to like the girl, for all her awkward, humiliating, humiliated, insipid, self-deprecating humbling awkwardness. She hardly speaks a word, has no wit or opinion or thought to speak of, crumbles and cries and quakes before the world - and yet, in spite of it all, she is gentleness itself; kind, patient, is not envious, is not puffed up. She is charity itself. And popular opinion is against her because of this: because she thinks only of others, because she is willing to be subservient and silent upon every reproach. Critics whine: why doesn't she stand up for herself? Where's her backbone, her individuality, her personality, her determination, her strength? What they don't understand is that her weakness is her strength. In her silence is her voice.
Not so our little 1999 heroine,the self-assured upstart snarky little bright young thing. In her first scene, she's making up stories to comfort her younger sister. From the incorrigible young age of nine, she's interested in the issue of slavery. For pete's sake, if you read the BOOK, she bawls the entire trip to Mansfield, the entire first week there, and then off and on during the next eight years. EIGHT YEARS of pining and whining. And feministic pouty little miss adventure-and-curiosity has the nerve to stare petulantly into the camera and tell us how bored she is. "Voracious" reading? WRITING? Quirky? Yes. Funny? Maybe. Accurate? Emphatically NOT.
[And, on that note, NO subtlety whatsoever. Which is the essence of Austen's writing and wit ... I wince and wince and wince at the portrayals of Mrs. Norris, Tom Bertram, Rushworth, etc. But that shall be another rant, another day.]
[Oh! and the seduction scene in the East Room? KOWTOWING to our modern day society who have no brains or wit enough to understand what's going on unless it is played out in detail in front of them, to the great perversion of characters ... Edmund? For example? SERIOUSLY? And Mary: CREEPY.]
Why portray her as Alice in Wonderland? Why portray her as Jo March? Why portray her as Jane Austen herself? Or even Lizzy Bennet? Why portray her as anything other than Fanny Price??? Let the other girls stick to their own stories! Fanny has enough people pushing her around and telling her how to behave; can't we give her a little room and let her BE HERSELF? Isn't that what modern society has been drumming into our heads these past, what, fifty years?
So, maybe I'm a purist. So, maybe I'm a perfectionist. So, maybe I'm reading too much into the story ... or staying up too late at night. Very probably yes. But while studying literature, it becomes all the more obvious and irksome when such great works are misrepresented; and it also becomes vitally important for these works and their characters to be well portrayed for the *sigh* dare I say it? Uncultured masses. Ok, that sounds snobbish. Let's say, the general population. Those who haven't read the books, but get dragged by the hair to see the films (or fall asleep in the middle of them on the family room couch). And for the not-so-general population as well, those who have read and enjoyed and can appreciate the books; are they not irritated ... even the slightest bit ... to see things shown in ways they are not meant to be? What about future generations,when books become extinct and stuffy old archeologists turn to ancient, worm-eaten fragments of VHS film for their information, holding the shreds up to the light to see images of strange people in bird feathers and large hair, ornate dresses (probably worn for complicated rain-dance or sacrifical rituals) and bizarre footear; and the discovery of a DVD player will win the Nobel Prize! Just think of how they will be able to see us all ... *sigh*
Ok, getting extreme again.
Anyway, READ THE BOOK. READ THE BOOK. READ THE BOOK.
Then use your God-given gifts of intelligence, reason, and free will - watch the films, and form your own opinions. [now that I have told you what to think, muwahahahahaha]
Until later!
Yours truly :)
And just sayin', Mary Crawford looks TERRIBLE. Lady Bertram WORSE. But Julia is BEAUTIFUL. MOLLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
... if you haven't, READ and SEE and DELIGHT IN Mary Gaskell's "Wives and Daughters." Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!
Olives and Cameras
No, I have not been taking photos of olives. That would show a higly disturbing lack of sleep, and a highly disturbing level of boredom (I'm such an easily-pleased and -entertained individual as to render this quite, quite .... well, nearly impossible). However, I did just spend the greater part of the afternoon in the Radcliffe Camera (the big round building generally mentally associated with the Bodleian - and no, I've no clue the why or wherefore of the "camera" part, but it's named after
IOHANNES RADCLIFFE M.D.
HUIUS BIBLIOTHECAE
FUNDATOR
as it is formidably inscribed upon the lofty wall)
Wow. That was a long parenthetical tangental digression.
Anyway, camera. Yes. And after discovering parallels between Jane Austen's life and the life of Mary Gaskell's fictional heroine Margaret Hale from North and South [READ if you have not, and then SEE and DELIGHT in, among other things, summer snow!] and that George Eliot [Middlemarch: READ and then SEE and DELIGHT in ... well, lots of stuff] considered 'art' the nearest thing to life [curious concept, but I love it!], and other such brilliant and probably wholly unuseful-outside-academics [my knowledge as I know it] facts ...
Anyway, yes. Point being, in this blissfully distracted state of mind, I was in the process of returning to the dorm when I passed by an olive stand. Anyone who has had the misfortune of passing through the condiments aisle, yours truly in tow, will assure you that the only hitherto successful method of ungluing my consciousness from that heavenly assortment of little glass jars is to pick one off the shelf,put it in the cart, and then walk away with the cart. Now, of course, I paused. The mad rush of shoppers were forced to swerve around me as I stood in the middle of the walkway and grinned. I grinned and grinned and grinned: I had MONEY in my POCKET, and there were OLIVES for SALE! And the olive man stuck one on a toothpick and held it out to me. I put it to you: how could I refuse? And so I skipped gleefully home with a box of fresh, oily, over-priced olives clutched in my hands. Somehow being over-priced means they must be perfection itself, right? Well, they were.
And now, after an excessively diverting blog post on OLIVES (notice how you can spell 'I loves'* with those letters :D) I am off to finish reading Mansfield Park, in the high hopes of completing it before dinner, so as to allow myself a few moments afterwards to youtube [notice the verbing!] the film. I watched the first few minutes, and then realized I should probably finish the book before seeing the film *sob* like with everything; but it's good motivation to read! ... not that Jane Austen ever needs a visual representation to complete or justify her existence! NEVER.
* as in "I loves 'em" ... though that would require an "em" somewhere in there. EMOLIVES? emo lives? OLIMVESE? like Inglese? a very golf fry ... gravy flo ... I dunno.
IOHANNES RADCLIFFE M.D.
HUIUS BIBLIOTHECAE
FUNDATOR
as it is formidably inscribed upon the lofty wall)
Wow. That was a long parenthetical tangental digression.
Anyway, camera. Yes. And after discovering parallels between Jane Austen's life and the life of Mary Gaskell's fictional heroine Margaret Hale from North and South [READ if you have not, and then SEE and DELIGHT in, among other things, summer snow!] and that George Eliot [Middlemarch: READ and then SEE and DELIGHT in ... well, lots of stuff] considered 'art' the nearest thing to life [curious concept, but I love it!], and other such brilliant and probably wholly unuseful-outside-academics [my knowledge as I know it] facts ...
Anyway, yes. Point being, in this blissfully distracted state of mind, I was in the process of returning to the dorm when I passed by an olive stand. Anyone who has had the misfortune of passing through the condiments aisle, yours truly in tow, will assure you that the only hitherto successful method of ungluing my consciousness from that heavenly assortment of little glass jars is to pick one off the shelf,put it in the cart, and then walk away with the cart. Now, of course, I paused. The mad rush of shoppers were forced to swerve around me as I stood in the middle of the walkway and grinned. I grinned and grinned and grinned: I had MONEY in my POCKET, and there were OLIVES for SALE! And the olive man stuck one on a toothpick and held it out to me. I put it to you: how could I refuse? And so I skipped gleefully home with a box of fresh, oily, over-priced olives clutched in my hands. Somehow being over-priced means they must be perfection itself, right? Well, they were.
And now, after an excessively diverting blog post on OLIVES (notice how you can spell 'I loves'* with those letters :D) I am off to finish reading Mansfield Park, in the high hopes of completing it before dinner, so as to allow myself a few moments afterwards to youtube [notice the verbing!] the film. I watched the first few minutes, and then realized I should probably finish the book before seeing the film *sob* like with everything; but it's good motivation to read! ... not that Jane Austen ever needs a visual representation to complete or justify her existence! NEVER.
* as in "I loves 'em" ... though that would require an "em" somewhere in there. EMOLIVES? emo lives? OLIMVESE? like Inglese? a very golf fry ... gravy flo ... I dunno.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Week 3, Michaelmas Term: Flown Away!
This week is no more; it is gone to meet its Maker; it is an EX-WEEK!
And unfortunately, there's not much to say about the poor fellow. He lived a good, though much too short, life. He never made much of himself, but lived quietly at home, trying his best to be cheerful despite the general tension in the family due to the stress of work. And now that he is gone, the weirdly warm weather has left with him, and the great gusts of grey winds blow in to seize us all and chill us to the bone. He is no more! He quite exploded, actually; and it was about time he made up his mind to do it, too.
Good riddance!
Anyway, yes, much too much in a bizarre mood to have anything real to say, not that there is much real to say, anyway. I could write a book on how much I love the libraries, but I think we've just about killed that topic. It is an EX-TOPIC! even if it does continue to cry, "I'm not dead yet!" I think we've had about enough.
And now for something completely different.
Along the edge of wilderness of green and gold and brown
The running water flows, and ceaselessly
The steady stream of trickling ripples down
To meet a paragon of pathways, meet
And cross and overlap where no one sees
The point. An ideal point, so cautiously
Removed from view; the running stream forbids
That glance, that apprehensive look so neatly
Cast upon the sacred apex, yet hid,
I alone, among the leaves, encouraged
By the chilling breath of dismal doubt
And fear, I leapt to great conclusions, seized
The day, and ran to find if I alone
Were able, among the rest, to stand above
And look below on windswept fields
Of empty green, and others full of golden sands,
Where no man had dared explore before.
I alone. I stood, I looked, I wept to see
The emptiness; and no one knew.
I wept, and would have cast my eyes
Upon some lesser good, some lighter fate,
I’d change the beauty for a calmer glory,
But another song swept past my ear
Encouraged me to look another way and seek
A different view; could I not meet
The paragon of pathways, meet and glance
Along the point of ideal truth and see
The running waters flow and trickle down
The ceaseless stream, the landscape
Of unapproachable dreams?
A bit of something I threw together during one of my more distracted moments. It flowed very easily, which was pleasant, but I'm really not sure what it means. (And NO, it wasn't even a sugar high! I think it was more just a general unwinding ... and a little lack of sleep ... !) But enjoy anyway!
Hopefully next week will bring with him some more exciting adventural presents; I'm afraid the last poor fellow was caught unawares and dragged away before he could even consider leaving me anything. I've become such a spoiled child :)
And unfortunately, there's not much to say about the poor fellow. He lived a good, though much too short, life. He never made much of himself, but lived quietly at home, trying his best to be cheerful despite the general tension in the family due to the stress of work. And now that he is gone, the weirdly warm weather has left with him, and the great gusts of grey winds blow in to seize us all and chill us to the bone. He is no more! He quite exploded, actually; and it was about time he made up his mind to do it, too.
Good riddance!
Anyway, yes, much too much in a bizarre mood to have anything real to say, not that there is much real to say, anyway. I could write a book on how much I love the libraries, but I think we've just about killed that topic. It is an EX-TOPIC! even if it does continue to cry, "I'm not dead yet!" I think we've had about enough.
And now for something completely different.
Along the edge of wilderness of green and gold and brown
The running water flows, and ceaselessly
The steady stream of trickling ripples down
To meet a paragon of pathways, meet
And cross and overlap where no one sees
The point. An ideal point, so cautiously
Removed from view; the running stream forbids
That glance, that apprehensive look so neatly
Cast upon the sacred apex, yet hid,
I alone, among the leaves, encouraged
By the chilling breath of dismal doubt
And fear, I leapt to great conclusions, seized
The day, and ran to find if I alone
Were able, among the rest, to stand above
And look below on windswept fields
Of empty green, and others full of golden sands,
Where no man had dared explore before.
I alone. I stood, I looked, I wept to see
The emptiness; and no one knew.
I wept, and would have cast my eyes
Upon some lesser good, some lighter fate,
I’d change the beauty for a calmer glory,
But another song swept past my ear
Encouraged me to look another way and seek
A different view; could I not meet
The paragon of pathways, meet and glance
Along the point of ideal truth and see
The running waters flow and trickle down
The ceaseless stream, the landscape
Of unapproachable dreams?
A bit of something I threw together during one of my more distracted moments. It flowed very easily, which was pleasant, but I'm really not sure what it means. (And NO, it wasn't even a sugar high! I think it was more just a general unwinding ... and a little lack of sleep ... !) But enjoy anyway!
Hopefully next week will bring with him some more exciting adventural presents; I'm afraid the last poor fellow was caught unawares and dragged away before he could even consider leaving me anything. I've become such a spoiled child :)
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Autumn in Oxford
Today some friends and I took a walk around the University parks; what a glorious day! Although the air was brisk, the sun was shining and warm, and the leaves were beautiful. Enjoy the photos!
The quad here is Keble College; we popped our heads in through the door. Very nice quad! Beautiful old brick.
The ducks were hilarious. This couple had bread, and the birds WANTED IT! They flocked around, squawking and honking and flapping and chasing each other; they even came up to us, looking at us expectantly, demanding a snack. We didn't have anything with us, so the birds stomped away, all huffy and cranky. Highly entertaining. :)
Friday, October 22, 2010
Week 2, Michaelmas Term: DISPARU!
She's murdering Time! Off with her head!
Well, what can I do? He's such an impertinent fellow; he keeps playing games with me. We run round and round in circles, one week after another, like squirrels scampering up and around a tree, higher and higher and higher ... not realizing how far we've gone, I keep following, trying to run all the faster! And then KABOOM! It all goes up in smoke; the tree and squirrels disappear, and there stands old Time, shown to be who he truly is: old, grumpy, impatient, and unwilling to budge for even a moment. I'm coming, I'm coming! I tell him, but he only pushes me all the harder forwards and forwards, faster and faster and faster and faster and AUGH! My paper is due! - you know how that goes!
Anyway, another week blasted into the past; onwards and upwards! I can't believe I've only posted twice this week; is that normal? That seems rather infrequently, though I haven't really been paying attention. Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' into the future ... and yes, no worries, that's the only line I know.
Hope all is well with y'all; I'm going to try to go 'round the city tomorrow and take some more pix to liven up this little brown slab of cyberspace wallspace. Anything anybody wants to see particularly? Let me know, I'll try to be obliging!
Well, what can I do? He's such an impertinent fellow; he keeps playing games with me. We run round and round in circles, one week after another, like squirrels scampering up and around a tree, higher and higher and higher ... not realizing how far we've gone, I keep following, trying to run all the faster! And then KABOOM! It all goes up in smoke; the tree and squirrels disappear, and there stands old Time, shown to be who he truly is: old, grumpy, impatient, and unwilling to budge for even a moment. I'm coming, I'm coming! I tell him, but he only pushes me all the harder forwards and forwards, faster and faster and faster and faster and AUGH! My paper is due! - you know how that goes!
Anyway, another week blasted into the past; onwards and upwards! I can't believe I've only posted twice this week; is that normal? That seems rather infrequently, though I haven't really been paying attention. Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' into the future ... and yes, no worries, that's the only line I know.
Hope all is well with y'all; I'm going to try to go 'round the city tomorrow and take some more pix to liven up this little brown slab of cyberspace wallspace. Anything anybody wants to see particularly? Let me know, I'll try to be obliging!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Rain
Today, it RAINED. A good, strong, proper British rain. Only sad point: I didn't have my wellies on :( Next time!
Now, guys, we have just a few minutes for Flattery 101. Learn from the best!
« Since my lady of Champagne / Wishes me to begin a romance, / I shall do so most willingly, / As one who is entirely at her service / I anything he can undertake in this world. / I say this without any flattery, / Though another might begin his story / With the desire to flatter her. / He might say (and I would agree) / That she is the lady who surpasses / All women who are alive, / Just as the foehn which blows in May or April, / Surpasses the other winds. / Certainly I am not one / Intent upon flattering his lady; / Will I say: ‘as the polished diamond / Eclipses the pearl and the sard, / The countess eclipses queens’? / Indeed not; I’ll say nothing of the sort / Though it be true in spite of me. / I will say, however, that her command / Has more importance in this work / Than any thought or effort I might put into it.”
- Chretien de Troyes. Command of words. It's a beautiful thing.
Now, guys, we have just a few minutes for Flattery 101. Learn from the best!
« Since my lady of Champagne / Wishes me to begin a romance, / I shall do so most willingly, / As one who is entirely at her service / I anything he can undertake in this world. / I say this without any flattery, / Though another might begin his story / With the desire to flatter her. / He might say (and I would agree) / That she is the lady who surpasses / All women who are alive, / Just as the foehn which blows in May or April, / Surpasses the other winds. / Certainly I am not one / Intent upon flattering his lady; / Will I say: ‘as the polished diamond / Eclipses the pearl and the sard, / The countess eclipses queens’? / Indeed not; I’ll say nothing of the sort / Though it be true in spite of me. / I will say, however, that her command / Has more importance in this work / Than any thought or effort I might put into it.”
- Chretien de Troyes. Command of words. It's a beautiful thing.
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