Bookish selfie…

A snapshot of my reading week in quotes…

“It’s a weakness in our family,” said Mrs Nickleby, “so, of course, I can’t be blamed for it. Your grandmama, Kate, was exactly the same – precisely. The least excitement, the slightest surprise – she fainted away directly. I have heard her say, often and often, that when she was a young lady, and before she was married, she was turning a corner into Oxford Street one day, when she ran against her own hairdresser, who, it seems, was escaping from a bear;– the mere suddenness of the encounter made her faint away directly. Wait, though,” added Mrs Nickleby, pausing to consider. “Let me be sure I’m right. Was it her hairdresser who had escaped from a bear, or was it a bear who had escaped from her hairdresser’s? I declare I can’t remember just now, but the hairdresser was a very handsome man, I know, and quite a gentleman in his manners; so that it has nothing to do with the point of the story.”

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By contrast, John Rylands’s library was a middlebrow mix of piety and practicality. The son of a draper from St Helen’s, Manchester’s first multi-millionaire lived from 1857 at Longford Hall, an Italianate mansion which he had built in the nearby village of Stretford. The house was unpretentious, and the library, of some 1,808 volumes, could hardly have been less like the library which Mrs Rylands later founded in her husband’s memory. Entirely devoid of antique or rare books, it included volumes of light reading (Dickens and Walter Scott) but also many religious books, as Rylands was a devout Congregationalist. [ . . .] Other books, like a Boy’s own Book of Boats (1868) seem somewhat more unexpected, while Scott’s Practical Cotton Spinner, and Manufacturer (Preston, 1840) and Etiquette for Gentlemen (1854) provoke interesting and perhaps rather moving reflections on the life story of a self-made man.

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“Have I ever told you that I think you’re a stunningly attractive woman?”
She turned her knowing brown eyes on him.
“You have, actually. Many times.”
“I’d love to kiss you. Properly, I mean.”
It nearly always worked, It was a simple wish expressed – heartfelt, genuine – and one hard to be offended by. It was a compliment, of sorts, though risqué. Sometimes the women said, “Well, thank you, but no thanks.” Or else, “Not here, not now.” Sometimes they looked at him, smiled, said nothing, and moved away. But, mostly, they were intrigued, and soon, after a while, after some more conversation, they found a way and a location and a time where the kiss could take place.
“You’ve already kissed me,” Suki said, sardonically. “If I recall.”

* * * * * * * * *

(The crew have been stranded on an ice floe for weeks, food is running out and they are on strict, tiny rations, facing starvation. All they are allowed for breakfast is some powdered milk and a lump of sugar. They had hoped to go back to their original camp that day to get food supplies that had been left there…)

Shackleton came to no. 5 tent, just at breakfast time, to inform Macklin that he had decided against the trip. It was a crushing disappointment, coming as it did on the heels of a miserable night of wet, misty weather during which nobody had slept much. Shackleton had hardly left when Macklin turned on Clark for some feeble reason, and the two men were almost immediately shouting at one another. The tension spread to Orde-Lees and Worsley and triggered a blasphemous exchange between them. In the midst of it, Greenstreet upset his powdered milk. He whirled on Clark, cursing him for causing the accident, because Clark had called his attention for a moment. Clark tried to protest, but Greenstreet shouted him down. Then Greenstreet paused to get his breath, and in that instant his anger was spent and he suddenly fell silent. Everyone else in the tent became quiet too and looked at Greenstreet, shaggy-haired, bearded and filthy with blubber-soot, holding his empty mug in his hand and looking helplessly down into the snow that had thirstily soaked up his precious milk. The loss was so tragic, he seemed almost on the point of weeping. Without speaking, Clark reached out and poured some of his milk into Greenstreet’s mug, then Worsley, then Macklin, and Rickinson and Kerr, Orde-Lees and finally Blackborow. They finished in silence.

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From the Archives…

Once their tears had dried, or before, they began naming roads and bridges, tunnels, highways and buildings for him, creating a grief-stricken empire of asphalt, mortar, brick, and bronze so extensive that if you extinguished every light on earth except those illuminating something named for him, astronauts launched from the Kennedy Space Center would have seen a web of lights stretching across Europe and North America, and others scattered through Africa and Asia…

(Click for full review)

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So…are you tempted?

JFK’s Last Hundred Days by Thurston Clarke

“…an incalculable loss of the future…” Ted Sorensen

🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂

jfk's last hundred daysWith the 50th anniversary coming up of John F Kennedy’s assassination, a plethora of books will no doubt be appearing over the next few months, tackling his history from a variety of angles. In this one, Thurston Clarke, journalist and historian, looks in detail at the last 100 days of JFK’s life, using this period as a jumping off point to examine both the politics and personality of the man.

I found the format of the book quite off-putting at first. Clarke will take a day and mention, for example, that JFK attended a meeting about Vietnam – Clarke will then divert to the past to explain the background to the situation as it was on that day. Next JFK might have a meeting on, say, civil rights – and off we go on another trip to the past. Then JFK might go off to do a bit of sailing, and we’ll get a chunk of information about his personal life. It’s all a bit loose and unstructured; and sometimes Clarke will mention something that he simply assumes the reader will know – for example, at one point he says ‘They discussed Massachusetts politics, race, and whether Alger Hiss was guilty (Kennedy thought he was).’ Since this is the only mention of Hiss in the whole book, this Brit was left with no idea who he was or what he was apparently guilty of. However once I got used to the style, I found the book both informative and interesting.

jfk yacht

The personal side of the book gave a picture of a rather odd man: a hypochondriacal, lying, sexually obsessed elitist. And yet Clarke reminds us regularly that JFK thought of himself as a man of the people and was happier amongst the workers – I can’t say that he gave any examples that convinced me of this. In fact I came away with the impression of him as a Gatsby-ish figure – constantly changing his clothes, obsessed with appearances, living a lavish lifestyle, needing constant company (even to the extent of having an aide in the room with him until he fell asleep) and in thrall to his own place in history. And yet I didn’t feel it was Clarke’s intention at all to do a hatchet job on him – quite the reverse, in fact. Some of the passages are so sycophantic as to make quite uncomfortable reading. The endless list of times JFK cried (there to show us what a caring person he was) was simply odd – who wouldn’t cry at the death of a brother or a child? It was as if Clarke felt he had to remind us that JFK was human after all. And I have to say that Jackie came over as a difficult, spoilt child – not unlike Daisy, to continue the Gatsby comparison.

jfk and jackie

The politics was much more interesting to me and handled better, I felt. Despite the non-linear style, Clarke gave pretty clear pictures of the background to the things that mattered most to JFK – civil rights, avoiding nuclear war, trying to find a way out of Vietnam, trying to get Cuba to break its links with the USSR, some attempt to redress the extreme poverty in parts of the USA and, of course, beating the Russians to the moon. To have achieved as much as he did in his short time as President was indeed remarkable, and Clarke suggests at the end that he would have gone further with many of these projects had he had a second term, and quotes many sources to back up his conviction that JFK would not have allowed the USA to get sucked in to a ground war in Vietnam. I found the book convincing on all these aspects and, given that the public at the time didn’t know about the private side of his life, it seemed to me very understandable that so many people, particularly amongst the young, were so devastated at his early death.

jfk runnymede

Clarke writes very movingly of the assassination itself. He tells of the warnings that JFK chose to ignore, the security measures he refused to take, believing that he had to allow the people to see and speak to him.

“Once their tears had dried, or before, they began naming roads and bridges, tunnels, highways and buildings for him, creating a grief-stricken empire of asphalt, mortar, brick, and bronze so extensive that if you extinguished every light on earth except those illuminating something named for him, astronauts launched from the Kennedy Space Center would have seen a web of lights stretching across Europe and North America, and others scattered through Africa and Asia…”

Clarke concludes that the outpouring of grief at Kennedy’s death was ‘for his promise as well as for his accomplishments, a promise that had become increasingly evident during his last hundred days’, and by the end of the book he had convinced this reader at least of the truth of that. An unusual structure for a biography, but thoroughly researched, well written and ultimately an easy and enjoyable read that succeeded in revealing something of the personal flaws without detracting from the political achievements of this remarkable man.

NB This book was provided for review by the publisher.

Amazon UK Link
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