End-of-Year Summary

This year I have tried and succeeded in reviewing at least two books per month. Starting from last January, I shall now present the cream of the crop, my personal choices for best things to read. In no particular order, and in categories arbitrarily dreamed up at this very moment, are the six winners of Artichoke’s illustrious prizes:

Most Humorous Funny Book of the Year: Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome is one of the most amusing things that can be read. A collection of cute little anecdotes about boating, this book shows us the light, silly side to Victorian England which contains badly-behaved dogs, reverse-psychology kettles, a practical example of how hypochondria works, and what to do once the ridiculousness of the whole idea of 'getting-away-from-it-all' finally dawns on you. i.e. Get away from the river as quickly as possible and catch the next train back to civilisation. [Reviewed January 2014]

Most Easily Enjoyed Book of the Year: I said that this book would be perfect for the lavatory, and this is still the case; Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino can be dived-into with no issue whatsoever, packed as it is with numerous little sections of standalone prose that can be enjoyed like a buffet. Each is brilliant, gorgeously written and presenting clear, amazing new ways in which to look at the world around us. It’s easy to enjoy, even if it isn’t quite so easy to understand all the time. [Reviewed June 2014]

Most Surprisingly Good Book of the Year: There have been several books I’ve picked up, expecting them to be boring or terrible, only to find that they were quite a lot better than expected. The Iliad was somewhat slow, repetitive, uninteresting, and not especially enjoyable to read, so I was delighted to find its sequel, The Odyssey, to be a whole lot better. Part of this was due, I think, to the particular translation – E.V. Rieu’s Penguin edition – but nevertheless the subject of the story, the progression of the plot, the characters on display, and the climactic ending, all were very much excellent. Modern adventure stories can all learn a thing or two from this founding-stone of Western literature. [Reviewed November 2014]

Worst Book of the Year: As always, some books just aren’t as good as others, but one or two of the things I’ve subjected myself to this year were awful to the extreme. Although there were some dreadful things to wade through, some were kind of funny in just how ridiculous and stupid they were; alas this is something that could not be said for the winner of this award – Douglas Adams’ Life, the Universe, and Everything, the sequel to The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. What makes me despair about this book so much, what makes it almost painful to me, is that Adams’ works were originally something worthy of praise – witty comic sci-fi that for a brief period were the finest examples of their genre – but with this attempt by Adams to resurrect his one good idea, the man had absolutely forgotten how to use his own comic genius. Everything that had made The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy so great in the first place is lacking from this book, and in its place is Adams’ misguided belief that he could, and should, write something more serious, give his paper-thin characters more character - not something they were designed for - and to try and put them through something almost like an actual science fiction plot. This is not The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – it is Douglas Adams flogging a horse that had died long ago, one that clearly should have been left buried. It hurts me to say it, because the original Hitch-Hiker phenomenon was such a good thing. [Reviewed March 2014]

Most Worthwhile Piece of Fantasy Fiction of the Year: Strangely enough, I’ve read quite a bit of ‘fantasy’ this year. For one thing I made it my duty to explore the original ‘Conan the Barbarian’ stories by Robert E. Howard, some of the first identifiable pieces of this genre ever recorded (predating Tolkien’s works, whilst being instantly recognisable to any practitioners of pen-and-paper RPGs thanks to how repetitively formulaic and unimaginative every last one of them was). But these are far from being good by any reasonable definition of that word, so we must look elsewhere to award this title. The best Fantasy is not really a Fantasy at all, but a joke parody of our world and modern civilisation, of our outlooks, manners and beliefs, and its a joke that keeps on giving.

We are of course talking about the Discworld of Terry Pratchett, one of the most versatile and true-to-life imaginary constructs ever devised by a writer – and the finest example of this I encountered in 2014 was Mort. Great characters, wicked humour and an interesting plot all go together to create a genuinely funny book that carries within it a serious critique of our own attitudes to mortality, morality, and fate. [Reviewed September 2014]

Best Book of the Year: This is the big one – the book that, even if you ignore everything else recommended here, you must make every effort to experience in order to make your reading-life complete. The book that has stood out most above all others for me this year has been, without any doubt, The Hour of the Dragon by Robert E. Howard, the only full-length Conan the Barbarian novel, a rip-roaring adventure across the Hyborian Age as the former King Conan of Aquilonia is put to the test tracking down a magical item which will aid in his efforts to reclaim his throne stolen by sorcerers and usurpers who are fed up with how Conan is just too awesome to be beaten using fair means... Wait; what came over me there? Conan can’t be the best book I’ve read all year. It's too stupid an idea to entertain.

Because the Conan stories are disqualified on account of being nothing more than overly-hormonal drivel, I've looked back through my notes and realized that the best book of the year, the one I have absolutely no reservation against holding up as a shining beacon of literature, is The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame, a charming little tale about a Mole, a Water Rat, a Badger and a Toad as they live their relaxing little lives by the river. The story of Toad of Toad Hall which steals the plot for most of the second half of the book is all right on its own, but really it’s the parts featuring Moley and Ratty that make this book what it is – a relaxing stroll through an unspoilt countryside, revelling in the sheer beauty of life and the world, and of the writing used to convey it to the reader. For human beings of all ages this is a wonderful thing to experience or re-experience so, if you’ve never tried it before, then maybe you could give it a go. In the words of Ratty: “Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing around in boats.” 
And who can argue with that? [Reviewed August 2014]

       Happy New Year – and read for pleasure every now and again. You’ll appreciate it.

Bibliofaff

Adams, Douglas. Life, the Universe and Everything. Pan Books: Bungay. (1982)

Calvino, Italo. Invisible Cities. Vintage: Reading. (1997 [First Published 1972])

Grahame, Kenneth. The Wind in the Willows. 49^th Ed. Methuen & Co. Ltd. (1935 [First Published 1908])

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by E.V. Rieu. Revised Edition. Penguin: St. Ives. (1991 [First Published 1946])

Jerome, Jerome K. Three Men in a Boat. Alan Sutton: Bristol. (1989 [first published 1889])

Pratchett, Terry. Mort. Corgi: Reading. (1988 [First Published 1987])

The Argonautica, by Apollonius of Rhodes

The Argonautica, or The Voyage of Argo to give it the Penguin name, may seem like a cut-price Greek epic, and there’s an argument for that being the right appraisal. It has received criticism from scholars, both ancient and modern, mostly on the grounds for it being something of a Homeric knock-off, but my own reservations against it are far more general than that. On the plus side it’s short – tiny, if you compare it to the Iliad. It has one or two interesting characters lurking within, and it’s fairly consistent as a story – we follow our heroes from start to finish, whereas in Homer’s stuff the narrative veers all over the place. Alas however it’s not particularly gripping, most of the characters are non-entities, and it finishes without any real conclusion. Essentially, it’s boring. And it's not a matter of translator this time either: this edition was done by the same guy who did the translation of the Odyssey I spent so much time praising a month ago, so it just goes to show.

So the story of ‘Jason and the Argonauts/The Golden Fleece’ is a genuine piece of Greek mythology, much like ‘Theseus and the Minotaur’ or the ‘Twelve Tasks of Heracles [Or Hercules for the Romans, but people – particularly Hollywood – keep calling him that even in the Greek context, which makes no sense],’ but it wasn’t until after Alexander the Great that anybody thought to write down the whole thing; which is what Apollonius of Rhodes did in about the 3^rd century BCE, a good few centuries after the Homeric stories were composed. Of Apollonius little more needs to be said; this is his only real contribution to history or literature, and the first time he tried to write his own epic, it thing apparently turned out a bit rubbish. But, undeterred, he went back to the drawing board and did a whole load of editing, mostly cutting, and then he put it back on the market where it became an international best-seller.

          So the story. Jason is a hero; he needs to sail off and get himself a Golden Fleece so he can do something about a vaguely villainous king called Pelias, so he assembles a crew of would-be heroes, loads up a boat which they name the Argo, and they sail off to unknown waters. After stopping over in Lemnos, where they swan around with the all-female inhabitants until Heracles tells them to get a grip and carry on adventuring, the Argonauts then have a chat with a blind seer and sort out his harpy problem, who then gives them helpful directions to distant Colchis where the Fleece apparently is, and so they head through the Clashing Rocks – a nice little coastal-feature that pretty much gates off the Bosporus – into the Black Sea, and finally arrive at the Caucasus where they are duly welcomed by King Aeetes and his daughter, Medea. Aeetes is not well disposed to hand over his favourite Fleece, so he puts Jason through a suicidal challenge to yoke a couple of fire-breathing bulls and plough a field with serpents’ teeth which will immediately grow into a bunch of homicidal warriors. With help from Medea, who has – with a bit of Divine interference – fallen in love with him, Jason overcomes these challenges, nicks the Golden Fleece, and sails back homeward, via the Danube, the Adriatic Sea, Switzerland, and the deserts of North Africa, and there the tale ends with them pulling into port back home at Pegasae, with no closure about what happens with King Pelias, what they do with the Golden Fleece, or whether Jason and Medea live happily ever after. It was a cop-out ending, make no mistake!

          Most of the characters are a bit rubbish; I mean, for odd incidental characters who are only there to advance the plot this isn’t too bad, but Jason is the protagonist, and he’s as boring as they come. The rest of the Argonauts, though they’re each given their own dreadfully long introduction, are also a bit lifeless – this point I will just go over again, because it’s something I particularly dislike to see in books; it’s bad form to introduce a load of characters in one lump, as we can’t be expected to memorise a whole list of names and their associated traits all at once, and it only really ends up frustrating the reader. This is what the Argonautica does right at the beginning, boring us before we’d even set off. With the Homeric heroes you generally get some amount of personality in the characters, and the Odyssey goes about this in the right way by introducing the players gradually, fleshing them out in their own time, and never having too many to deal with. If only Apollonius had taken this particular leaf out of Homer’s book.

          There is one major exception to this criticism. The best character in the Argonautica, one who actually goes a long way towards making this story actually worth reading, is Medea – the daughter of King Aeetes of Colchis, dabbler in magic and potion-making, and the girl who’s more or less responsible for pulling Jason’s arse out of the fire. For Medea we not only have a more detailed and sympathetic human personality than every other character in the book combined, she pretty much steals the show the moment she first enters the story. Basically she fulfils the same role as Ariadne does in the story of ‘Theseus and the Minotaur’ – that is, being the daughter of the tyrannical king who goes over and helps the hero against him, giving him handy tips and useful items which will aid in the coming trial, before the hero does his business and they sail off back home together before some horrible ‘Greek-Tragic’ twist ruins their lives at the end. But the thing about Medea is that she has actual personality and character-development, and the writer never neglects just how important a character she really is. If the whole thing had been about her from the start, then it would have been a much better story. For one thing, it would have had an actual protagonist, because Jason and his goons certainly don’t fit the bill. 

          So that’s about the long and short of it. A Hellenistic paperback that some people say was made simply so that Apollonius could prove he could write an epic all of his own, while other people say that this work is a definite departure from Homer, innovative and new. I hate the fact it offers no closure about the story whatsoever; I mean, I was hoping to hear the story about Jason sitting despondently under the decaying wreck of the Argo years later only to be crushed to death when its prow falls on him, but I would have settled with having him hand over the Fleece and actually do something worthwhile about Pelias, even if they gave us a pathetic faux happy-ending. In the Iliad we didn’t really see an ending to that story either, yet that epic still managed to end more strikingly than this piece of disappointing post-Alexandrian shite. Yet it has its moments – and I genuinely mean that. It comes alive when Medea enters the stage, and to give praise where it’s due, she’s one of the better characters in Greek myth I’ve seen so far. If you read it for any reason, it’d be for her – or if you just really love that cheesy old Todd Armstrong film from the ‘60s, and who can say fairer than that?

Biblionautica

Apollonius of Rhodes. The Voyage of Argo. Translated by E.V. Rieu. Penguin: London. (1971 [First Published 1959 – or the 3^rd century BCE, if you’d prefer])

The Jungle Book, by Rudyard Kipling

The title ‘Jungle Book’ almost universally conjures up thoughts of the famous Disney film from 1967, so if you’re looking for praise of that film here then you’ll be disappointed before the end of this sentence. With a slow plot, lazy animation, boring and tedious songs, and nothing really to say as a work of art, ‘The Jungle Book’ film is one of my least favourite efforts from the Disney company. The ‘Bear Necessities’ song in particular is dreadful; well, maybe it’s not actually a bad song, but it seriously wears out its welcome long before it’s over, and then they bring it up again and again throughout the rest of the film, so that by the start of the second rendition of it you’re sick of it, and with its final reprisal at the end it ruins the relief at the thought that the film is finally over.

          And I never really, as a child, could get over the paradox of a film calling itself a book. Most film adaptations of written works can get away with using the same title, but for this film in particular to call itself ‘The Jungle Book’ is absurd. The thing it’s based on, the Rudyard Kipling book, makes a lot more sense; it’s an anthology of seven short-stories, most of which take place in 19^th century India; only three of the stories concern Mowgli, and these stories and characters have been mutated beyond all recognition in an attempt to make them palatable to the company’s target audience. Now, I’m not normally critical of Disney films taking huge liberties with their source material as they can usually create a decent film that stands up on its own merits – it’s just that for The Jungle Book – the film – not only doesn’t resemble in any way the Mowgli stories from the book, but it was also a dull, lifeless thing to watch.

          So, to stop berating the Walt Disney company, who have before and since produced many much better things, let’s sit down and actually review the book. The first three stories all feature Mowgli, a human boy raised by wolves in the jungle, taught how to master his environment by Bagheera the panther and Baloo the bear. Mowgli’s life has been marked by Shere Khan the tiger ever since he was a baby, but with the protection and tutorship of the wolves, of Bagheera and Baloo, and of Kaa the python, Mowgli survives until he is old enough to strike out on his own, eventually confronting and killing Shere Khan. These first three stories are good, quite dark in tone, and probably worth a read. There is no King Louie in sight, but Mowgli’s abduction by monkeys is the subject of the second story, and it is in this that we meet Kaa the python – the character who was most abused in the writing-rooms of 1960s Disney. Far from the comical and slightly pathetic trickster seen in the film, Kaa is actually a terrifying, demi-godlike individual who is able to take on the entire monkey-clan of the Cold Lairs virtually single-handed (to pardon a pun). Baloo the bear, also, is very different, a wise and serious individual who does not in any way resemble an easy-going layabout, while Bagheera the panther is rather impulsive and generally quite friendly to Mowgli.  

          Of the remaining four stories in The Jungle Book, they are about, in order, a white seal who wants to find a safe haven for his seal colony, a mongoose who gets taken in by a family of English colonists who finds himself battling with a couple of cobras in the garden, a boy and his venerable old elephant, and a collection of animals used by the Indian Army who discuss and argue about their varying experiences of the world. Each story – including the Mowgli stories – is sandwiched between two poems relating to the story in some way. Each of them have their moments, and the variety is mildly interesting, but none of them held any particular fascination for me. The Mowgli stories were definitely the best, for they give more time for investment in characters, the subject-matter and setting are more interesting, and they read like sort of simplistic mini-epics.

          Of course we can now consider The Second Jungle Book, Kipling’s sequel to his original batch of tales. Capitalizing on the clear superiority of the Mowgli stories to the miscellaneous others, this collection includes five stories on the Mowgli series, and intersperses the miscellaneous chapters between them rather than tacking them in on to the end like the first book does. Kaa is given more time in the spotlight, Mowgli has greater development as a character, and the whole series is finished off in a very definite sense at the end. It’s simple, and relatively satisfying. Of the miscellaneous stories, one concerns a man in a powerful government position in the provinces, who one day leaves his job to become a wandering holy man; one is about a crocodile, a jackal and a stork who talk inanely to one another for a whole forty pages in which nothing happens, while the last is about a tribe of Inuit battling to survive in the frozen lands of the Arctic. I quite liked the story about the holy man and the one about the Inuit, while the one about the crocodile, jackal and stork was as dull as can be imagined. Altogether, if you liked The Jungle Book, then the sequel is pretty much just more of the same, with a tad more Mowgli and more conclusion.

          So then, is it worth reading these Rudyard Kipling books? I can see no harm in doing so, although they have hardly changed my life for having entered it. I admit I preferred reading the original Mowgli stories to watching the Disney film, and one or two of the other stories were relatively memorable, but overall with these things I’d say take them or leave them. They’re nice to familiarise yourself with, but overall they’re not dramatically special.

Bibliozon

Kipling, Rudyard. The Jungle Book. Macmillan and Co: Edinburgh. (1926 [First Published 1894])

Kipling, Rudyard. The Second Jungle Book. Macmillan and Co: Edinburgh. (1926 [First Published 1895])