Book review: Sketches by Boz

Book review: Sketches by Boz

The buzz about Boz!

 

Of course, they don’t write ‘em like this anymore.

Hooray for Charles Dickens (1812-1870). I’m talking about Sketches by Boz, his first book published in 1836.

I’m talking not only about the obvious point (Dickens has been dead these many years), but also about my understanding of the palpably inimitable Dickensian style.

Dickens does not fail to offer, time after time after time, character portraits that spring to life as you turn the pages—he sketches his characters with disinterested honesty, stout-hearted realism, generous indulgence, often a touch of whimsy…

 A case in point: “The Four Sisters,” who inhabit No. 25 Gordon Place in Sketches by Boz. In his brief (five pages) exposition of these cloistered ladies, Dickens ventures to create four personae that are not, will not, cannot be demeaned as a stereotype.

The Miss Willises—the master doesn’t trouble himself about not calling them the Misses Willis—are a scream, in a fastidiously literary kind of way.

Here’s a little taste:

“The house was the perfection of neatness—so were the four Miss Willises. Everything was formal, stiff, and cold—so were the four Miss Willises. Not a single chair of the whole set was ever seen out of its place—not a single Miss Willis of the whole four was ever seen out of hers. There they always sat, in the same places, doing precisely the same things at the same hour…They seemed to have no separate existence, but to have made up their minds just to winter through life together…The eldest Miss Willis grew bilious—the four Miss Willises grew bilious immediately. The eldest Miss Willis grew ill-tempered and religious—the four Miss Willises were ill-tempered and religious directly. Whatever the eldest did, the others did, and whatever anybody else did, they all disapproved of…”

I think this passage, like so many scenes in Dickens, is a singularity.

Re-reading Dickens is a singular treat for me.

 

You’re absolutely right, this is not quite a book review. I have a love affair with words, the carefully chosen words, words that express in exceptional ways the boundless variety of our thoughts, experiences, and emotions. I think a lot about life, the human condition, loving relationships with others, and the many levels of beauty, serenity, and delight in our natural environment. Reading the pithy words of real wordsmiths is always a learning opportunity.

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Book review. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2018 All rights reserved.

Book review: The Blithedale Romance

by Nathaniel Hawthorne, it’s not his best…

click here

My first name was rain: A dreamery of poems with 52 free verse and haiku poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

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Poets talk about poetry

Poets talk about poetry

…no fractured, disjoint,

       inchoate grab-bags

               of words…

 

 

“A poem…begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong,

                                 a homesickness, a lovesickness…” 

 

Robert Lee Frost  (1874-1963)

in his 1916 letter to Louis Untermeyer (1885-1977)

 

Frost and Untermeyer exchanged letters (imagine!) for almost 50 years. I’m pretty sure every single one of them involved more than 140 characters and spaces…think about it, when you’re actually scribbling, you don’t have to “write” a space…

There are, I guess, about a million or so ways, more or less, to define “poetry.” In 1827 Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) offered his “homely definition” of poetry: “the right words in the right order.” Sometimes I think poetry is the manifestation of lust for the right words.

I have this lust in my heart.

I am a poet, a writer, a teacher, a moralist, a historian, and an unflinching student of human nature. Some things I’d rather not know, but I’m stuck with knowing them. I think a lot. I strive to express truth and give context—both rational and emotional—to reality.

I think words can be pictures, and lovely songs, and bodacious scents, and private flavors, and early morning caresses that wake each part of me, one at a time. I know some of those words, and, from time to time, I write some of them.

Here’s a final thought for consideration: Coleridge also advised (1832) that “…if every verse is not poetry, it [should be], at least, good sense.” That makes good sense to me. I have no tolerance for some poets’ work that is merely a fractured, disjoint, inchoate grab-bag of words. A largely random collection of words is not likely to be a poem. I like to read (and write) a beginning, and an end, and some really meaty sweetie stuff in the middle.

Coleridge’s 1827 definition of poetry is from Specimens of the Table Talk of the late Samuel Taylor Coleridge, written by Henry Nelson Coleridge and published in 1835.

Louis Untermeyer was an American poet, anthologist, critic, and editor. He was appointed the 14th Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress in 1961.

 

For example, read The Poetry of Robert Frost, available on Amazon

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My poetry. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2017 All rights reserved.

​​
My first name was rain: A dreamery of poems with 52 free verse and haiku poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

Book review: Shantung Compound

They didn’t care much

      about each other…

by Langdon Gilkey

click here

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Book review: Grace Notes

Book review: Grace Notes

Book review:

Grace Notes

 

by Brian Doyle

Chicago, IL: ACTA Publications, 2011

 

You know, some of Brian Doyle’s prose, in this collection of his musings and essays, comes pretty close to my concept of poetry.

You ask why? Doyle is so particular, and so deft, in choosing the right words to frame his mood, his awareness, and his imagination in so many examples.

Try this excerpt from “Their Thin Bony Shoulders.” Doyle was invited to tell some stories and otherwise talk to nuns in their Benedictine monastery in Oregon. Among other subjects, he told them about “my mama.”

“And I stood there at the lectern, in that cavernous room in that lovely old monastery, with its cedared air like music in the nose, the extraordinary faces of the nuns held up to me in the twilight, and I tried to imagine or articulate or conceive a world without my mother in it, and I started to cry, and I could not stop.

Forty-nine years old, and still sobbing in front of nuns.

No one spoke.”

Don’t even try to pretend that your eyes aren’t a bit damp.

 

In Doyle’s Grace Notes, you can also take some time with “Advice to My Son,” “A Child is Not a Furniture,” “On Miraculousness,” and 33 other treats from his inquiring and incisive mind.

 

Book review: The Blithedale Romance

by Nathaniel Hawthorne, not his best…

click here

 

Book review. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2017 All rights reserved.

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many waters: more poems with 53 free verse poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”
A new poem about the right thing…

A new poem about the right thing…

Think again

about doing the right thing

(a new poem)

 

 

Vanity

 

Is it too hard to do the right thing?

Is it right to do the hard thing?

 

We feel old passion to stand up

and stand fast,

   in our crystal rectitude,

      for the right thing.

We know it, we love it,

   it is a thriving joy,

      manifest in our minds

      and in our hearts.

 

 

 

 

 

The mighty do not marvel.

The minions are not moved.

Other multitudes will not make

a murmur to urge us

to dream of good works,

   they do not encourage yearning

   to do the public good that slights no man.

 

Our prospect is more vain striving,

   or the meaner choice:

   endorse a pale type of the right thing.

 

The hard work—

the imperative reach for some right portion—

is to make our halloo to a lesser incarnation

of this dream that will not live in other hearts.

 

March 11, 2016

You might think that desperate convulsions in the Republican presidential primary in the spring of 2016 could have been the wellspring of this poem. In fact, I wrote it reflectively, as a reminder to my idealistic self that commitment to the right thing is of paramount importance, and that acknowledgement of the realistic possibilities is an imperative precondition for effective action.

Striving for the unreachable is a vanity.

A wise person said: pick battles you can win.

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My poetry. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2017 All rights reserved.

Above all: Poems of dawn and more with 74 free verse poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

 

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