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I went to the New Fortune STheatre reading of *Coriolanus* last night.  Like the other GRADS readings I’ve seen, it is like at least 75% of the way to a full production, with great acting and some movement.  It was great to see a relatively obscure Shakespeare presented so entertainingly.

I had never even read *Coriolanus* and it is a bit of an odd play – most of Shakespeare’s history plays are about kings but here is this one play about the plebes not endorsing Coriolanus as a senator.  I guess most of Shakespeare’s later works are odd outliers that are hard to categorise.

My only meaningful analysis would be in terms of Suzanne Collins’ *The Hunger Games*.  I knew that the main villain had a Shakespearean name – Coriolanus Snow – but watching the play shows Collins was alluding to Shakespeare in multiple ways. Collins’ world shows that Coriolanus Snow is mentored by Volumnia, the name of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus’ ice cold mother who cheers on his killing and says that she would gladly lay down a dozen sons for the State.

Shakespeare’s Coriolanus’ besetting problem is his pride in himself and his disdain for the plebes.  Likewise Coriolanus Snow.  And, like Shakespeare’s Coriolanus, Collin’s version makes himself…..

I reread *The Tenant of Wildfell Hall* because I had seen the most unhinged terminally online review which was arguing it was not a feminist work because Helen is too much of a doormat and does not immediately leave her husband.  This is similar to the insights I have seen where Oscar Wilde is accused of queerbaiting because there is no open homosexuality in *The Portrait of Dorian Grey*. There is a teenaged absolutist purity in these reviews that is completely untethered to historical reality.

At the time of writing the question of whether women should be able to divorce their husbands was being discussed – at that point it was only possible for women to petition for divorce if adultery was accompanied by a serious additional crime. Also, of course, all of Helen’s property belonged to her wastrel husband and anything she might further earn also belonged to him. Not to mention the enormous social disapproval for even leaving him.

The best section is definitely the flash back where Helen describes her tragic marriage to the frivolous Arthur Huntingdon, followed by a detailed description of his gradual deterioration into alcoholism and moral decay.  The searing portrait of an alcoholic who has wasted all his potential and is a crippling burden on his family was actually published while her brother was alive.

Hello,

Thank you so much for writing for me! I already love it!

The A Team (2010) — I would very much love a Face/Murdock story, but would be equally happy with something about them being competent at their job and best friends.  I am totally happy with 1970s or 80s backstory.

Porridge — I would very much like a Fletch/Godber fic but anything funny is fine.... 

Tomorrow when the war began — I personally am in the one person shipping canoe of Ellie/Homer but feel free to write anything about them taking care of each other or dealing with the impact of the war.  

I like people being competent and taking care of each other.  I would prefer not to see unhappy endings. 

Thanks again.

Frances Fraser and Nettie Palmer (eds), Centenary Gift Book, 1934.

In my desire to own the complete works of Mary Grant Bruce, I have just tracked down a fundraising booklet produced in 1934 for Women’s Centenary Council (of Victoria).  The booklet states that the Council would be devoted to a fund for a memorial to pioneer women, and the internet informs me that the Council opened a botanical garden with commemorative plaques in 1935. So, well done, Women’s Centenary Council.

The booklet was clearly produced with an eye to economy.  It has a cardboard cover and uneven edging. Although extensively illustrated, there’s only one colour image. The copy I found is in good condition – one imagines it was rarely taken off the shelf.

It is an interesting snapshot of women writing in Australia in the 1930s. Eminent women of letters have provided essays – MGB’s essay on her pioneer foremothers takes pride of place as the first offering. It also contains much writing by those who are now unknown.

So, books of 2023.... a pictogram would be helpful.

125 books in total, of which 54 were new to me.

The majority were fiction, with 20 being magazines, 10 short story collections, 3 art books, 1 poetry collection and 37 non fiction works (mostly biographies).

The publication date of the books I read is gradually changing as the 2020s continue. And there were a lot fewer from the 1930s and 40s this year, because I read fewer Golden Age detective novels.

1800s — 7 

1900s - 2
1910s - 1
1920s - 2
1930s - 4
1940s - 6
1950s - 15
1960s - 2
1970s - 8
1990s - 14
2000s - 19
2010s - 24
2020s - 25

My discovery of the year was The Hunger Games. I had had no idea it was such a deep, well written work.

I just acquired another rare Ethel Turner, a copy of *Gum Nut Leaves* (1900).  It only went through one edition, which is why it is really hard to find.

The book is very obviously an early work, back when Ethel Turner was writing the children’s corner at the Australian Town and Country Journal.  Under the pen name Dame Durden, she wrote short stories, set up puzzles, offered advice and corresponded with children who wrote in.

*Gum Nut Leaves* doesn’t have the puzzles, but has all the other elements, including advice on how to make dolls houses and how to help around the house. There are a few short stories I have not read before, and, most interestingly, letters from children.

They are a strange slice of life from 1900, with the children writing about their pets, local weather events, and local cultural events.  But weirdly, because a lot of pets seem to die in horrible ways, like eating tacks and taking poison, and there are two separate descriptions of local corroborees, plus a kid from Papua New Guinea talking about the local dances. One things that is common between 1900 and 2023 is that there are a lot of mentions of extreme weather events.

I like it, though obviously it is only worth collecting if you are a completist as it is definitely one of her minor works.

Louisa May Alcott, A Garland for Girls, 1887

This 1887 book is a collection of seven short stories aimed at girls, each themed around a flower. The stories are about learning patience, perseverance, modesty, and cheerfulness. We are very much in *Little Women* territory.

Indeed, these are exactly the sort of stories that Professor Bhaer encouraged Jo to write, giving up the sensational tales she had been creating and selling to support her family. I like these stories, of course, but part of me is unreasonably annoyed by them, just because of this association.

It irritates me that Professor Bhaer tells Jo what to write. The patriarchal ass. I don’t say Jo had to marry Laurie; I do say she should not have had to marry Professor Bhaer.

What does he bring to their partnership? He is physically unattractive, sets intellectual limits on her, and they live off Jo’s inheritance from Aunt March. All Professor Bhaer does is sit around talking philosophy with the older boys at the school.

Of course, that is exactly what Louisa May Alcott’s father did. He took his family off to an experimental farm where he sat about talking high faluting philosophy while making his wife do an endless amount of back breaking labour until the experiment inevitably failed.

This is, I think, part of why I find these short stories difficult. On one hand, I like the simple, charming tales. On the other, I like Alcott’s sensational tales as well.

Although I am of course grateful that Alcott wrote *Little Women*, I feel like her stories imply a reluctance to leave the sensational, and a resistance to the patriarchal order that she outwardly supports. After all, Jo March is much more exciting and enjoyable when she is young and coltish and writing whatever she wants, compared to the much less exciting Mrs Bhaer.

Thanks for writing a fic. I love it already.

Rosemary Sutcliff — Slash, for preference, but anything focussed on their life after the end of the book would be great.

Avenue 5 — Billie being competent. Perhaps Ryan managing a rare moment of competence. 

Porridge — Honestly, anything. It calls out for humour but then again the situation is a bit of a tragedy. (Hey, it's like Red Dwarf.)

I prefer works focussed on relationships. 

RM Ballantyne, The Coral Island, 1857.

The book is terribly dated, in terms of its biology (coconuts are not soft skinned, you cannot see more easily in warm sea water than in cold sea water). It is even more dated in terms of its values (white folks are not natural leaders, missionaries are not an unmitigated good, South Sea Islanders are not savage cannibals who sacrifice babies to eel gods).

However, I still retain fondness for this book, in the same way I am fond of Robinson Crusoe (1719) or Enid Blyton’s Secret Island (1937). There is something exciting about the idea of being cast away on an island, being self sufficient, making a bower out of palm fronds.

Every time I read it I forget about the last third of the novel. As written, it has one chapter on Ralph’s infancy, one on the voyage out and then the three boys are briskly left alone on an island with no hope of rescue. There follows a heap of adventures and information dumping about candle trees and yams and coconut trees and musings about the amazing beneficence of God who has made all this for his subjects. The boys rise to every occasion, even boar hunting and subsequent shoe making, and have no problems until the pirates arrive and kidnap Ralph! I remember all of it to this point with great affection.