Evelina: “can your Ladyship be serious in proposing to introduce her to the gaieties of a London life?”

1/ Evelina, her mother dead and her father not acknowledging her, has been raised by Rev. Arthur Villars in the country. She is now 17 and Lady Howard invites Evelina to spend some time with her, her daughter Mrs Mirvan, and her granddaughter Miss Maria Mirvan at Howard Grove. The plot is kicked into action when Evelina joins Mrs and Miss Mirvan to London, despite Rev. Villars’s misgivings, to meet Captain Mirvan (Mrs Mirvan’s husband) after a seven-year separation. Then in London, she runs into her grandmother Madame Duval, an immoral woman who broke relations with her daughter and only recently learnt about Evelina’s existence. 

The full title of the book is Evelina, or the History of a Young Lady’s Entrance into the World, so it’s about all the misassumptions, misunderstandings, and mishaps as Evelina figures her way through the fashionable world of London. 

You can see why such a plot is great material for a comedy of manners. 

Then what are the similarities between Evelina and the novels of Jane Austen—in other words, the things that Jane Austen appears to have learnt or taken from Frances Burney? The genre comedy of manners; a lovable female protagonist, a romantic interest, some obstacles, a few “odious creatures” (such as Mr Loval and Sir Clement Willoughby in Evelina or Mr Collins in Pride and Prejudice), vulgar characters, embarrassing relatives; a gift for capturing different voices and manners of speaking; a bright, light, and sparkling quality. 

Here, when I say the novels of Jane Austen, I mostly mean Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice; Mansfield Park is sombre and not a comedy of manners; Emma and Persuasion, despite having some of these features, are also very different in tone. 

As I have seen Jane Austen’s development as a writer, I’m curious about Frances Burney’s later novels. 

2/ Some of the humour in Evelina is in the spats between Captain Mirvan and Madame Duval, Evelina’s ridiculous grandmother, who pretends to be French. 

“This entertainment concluded with a concert of mechanical music: I cannot explain how it was produced, but the effect was pleasing. Madame Duval was in ecstasies; […] and, in the midst of the performance of the Coronation Anthem, while Madame Duval was affecting to beat time, and uttering many expressions of delight, [Captain Mirvan] called suddenly for salts, which a lady, apprehending some distress, politely handed to him, and which, instantly applying to the nostrils of poor Madame Duval, she involuntarily snuffed up such a quantity, that the pain and surprise made her scream aloud. When she recovered, she reproached him with her usual vehemence; but he protested he had taken that measure out of pure friendship, as he concluded, from her raptures, that she was going into hysterics.” (Vol.1, Letter 19) 

They constantly argue, constantly provoke each other. Madame Duval also provides lots of laughs for Captain Mirvan when she and her French companion, Monsieur DuBois, fall over and get completely soaked in the mud. Frances Burney is very, very funny. 

Later: 

“… we had hardly turned out of Queen Ann Street, when a man, running full speed, stopt the coach. He came up to the window, and I saw he was the Captain’s servant. He had a broad grin on his face, and panted for breath. Madame Duval demanded his business: “Madam,” answered he, “my master desires his compliments to you, and-and-and he says he wishes it well over with you. He! he! he!-”

Madame Duval instantly darted forward, and gave him a violent blow on the face; “Take that back for your answer, sirrah,” cried she, “and learn not to grin at your betters another time. Coachman, drive on!”

The servant was in a violent passion, and swore terribly; but we were soon out of hearing.” (Vol.1, Letter 21) 

Is it just me, or is this kind of broad humour—crude and violent—more like Henry Fielding than Jane Austen? There seems to have been a shift in sensibilities.

The prank that Captain Mirvan later plays on Madame Duval especially feels like something in the vein of Joseph Andrews, which traces back to Don Quixote—you obviously don’t get that in Jane Austen but I don’t think you find it in Victorian novels either.  

3/ Generally speaking, the characters in Evelina may be more memorable than those in Joseph Andrews, partly because we spend more time with them and partly because Frances Burney gives each character a distinct voice. Hear the Captain, for example: 

““Now, do you see,” said he, “as to Lady Howard, I sha’n’t pretend for to enlist her into my service, and so I shall e’en leave her to make it out as well as she can; but as to all you, I expect obedience and submission to orders; I am now upon a hazardous expedition, having undertaken to convoy a crazy vessel to the shore of Mortification; so, d’ye see, if any of you have anything to propose that will forward the enterprise,-why speak and welcome; but if any of you, that are of my chosen crew, capitulate, or enter into any treaty with the enemy,-I shall look upon you as mutinying, and turn you adrift.”” (Vol.1, Letter 33) 

His way of talking is defined by slang and naval terms. 

In the previous blog post, I wrote that Evelina “is indeed full of scenes, dialogue, characters, the novelistic stuff—I would probably say that Evelina is like a bridge between epistolary novels and Jane Austen’s comedies of manners.” 

For a large part of the novel—when Evelina takes over and becomes the narrator, so to speak—the book is more like a comedy of manners in the vein of Jane Austen. But once in a while, such as near the end of Volume 1, Frances Burney does make use of the epistolary form—we see communication and clashing perspectives. 

4/ Certain things in Evelina find echoes in Jane Austen: the men who can’t take no for an answer remind me of Mr Collins; Evelina’s embarrassing relatives make me think of the Bennets; the scene of her and Sir Clement in the chariot find parallels in the scene of Emma and Mr Elton in his carriage; and so on and so forth. 

The most unrealistic part of Evelina and also Richardson’s Pamela is that because of the epistolary form, these girls tell their (real or adoptive) parents everything—have these authors not met teenagers? Jane Austen’s novels don’t have this problem.

Reading Evelina is interesting for various reasons. On the one hand, Frances Burney is very funny and has some of Jane Austen’s qualities—wouldn’t it make more sense for Janeites to read Burney than contemporary writers’ spin-offs? But on the other hand, we can see that Burney laid the ground but Austen went much further—it is no wonder that Jane Austen is considered one of the greatest writers of all time whereas Burney doesn’t get anywhere near the same attention. The characters in Evelina do have a distinct voice but they are largely defined by a single trait, and more importantly, things are as they appear, whereas in Jane Austen, things are often not what they seem—from the very beginning, in Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility (I’m excluding the juvenilia), she has explored the question of appearance vs reality. That gives her novels a depth and complexity that one doesn’t quite see in Evelina.

Perhaps I’m being hasty as usual—I’m on Volume 2 out of 3—but Lord Orville is a romantic interest from the start, he and Evelina are attracted to each other right away, the “odious creatures” are odious and I don’t think they are different from what they appear. The question is whether they are capable of surprise, like Shakespeare’s Sir Andrew Aguecheek or Dickens’s Sir Leicester. 

So let’s see. 

Evelina: “this species of writing […] saved from contempt, and rescued from depravity”

1/ Now that I have got acquainted with the fathers of the English novel (Richardson and Fielding), it’s natural that I get to know the mother (Frances Burney, or Fanny Burney). She’s of particular interest to me also because of her influence on Jane Austen. 

Let’s look at the timeline: 

1740: Richardson’s Pamela 

1741: Fielding’s Shamela (parody of Pamela, published under a pseudonym) 

1742: Fielding’s Joseph Andrews 

1748: Richardson’s Clarissa (I know it’s important and will have to read it at some point, but 970,000 words? War and Peace is not even 600,000 words in English) 

1749: Fielding’s Tom Jones (his masterpiece and one of the greatest novels of the 18th century—I will definitely read it) 

1759-1767: Sterne’s Tristram Shandy (I tried this once—will try again when I’m more used to 18th century’s English) 

1778: Burney’s Evelina (first published anonymously but soon acknowledged)

1782: Choderlos de Laclos’s Dangerous Liaisons 

1791: Cao Xueqin’s Hong lou meng (Dream of the Red Chamber or The Story of the Stone) 

1811: Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility (the first draft, titled Elinor and Marianne, was written around 1795 and in the epistolary form)

1813: Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (originally titled First Impressions, written around 1796-1797) 

2/ The quote in the headline comes from Frances Burney’s Preface: 

“In the republic of letters, there is no member of such inferior rank, or who is so much disdained by his brethren of the quill, as the humble Novelist; nor is his fate less hard in the world at large, since, among the whole class of writers, perhaps not one can be named of which the votaries are more numerous but less respectable.

Yet, while in the annals of those few of our predecessors, to whom this species of writing is indebted for being saved from contempt, and rescued from depravity, we can trace such names as Rousseau, Johnson, Marivaux, Fielding, Richardson, and Smollett, no man need blush at starting from the same post, though many, nay, most men, may sigh at finding themselves distanced.”

She also wrote: 

“… however I may feel myself enlightened by the knowledge of Johnson, charmed with the eloquence of Rousseau, softened by the pathetic powers of Richardson, and exhilarated by the wit of Fielding, and humour of Smollett, I yet presume not to attempt pursuing the same ground which they have tracked; whence, though they may have cleared the weeds, they have also culled the flowers; and, though they have rendered the path plain, they have left it barren.”

I will return to these lines when I have finished reading Evelina. But I will say that the innocent, inexperienced, rather sheltered and awkward Evelina is much livelier and more likeable than Richardson’s virtuous Pamela and Fielding’s beautiful Fanny Goodwill. Fanny Goodwill is no more than a cardboard cutout, from the beginning to the end a damsel in distress. Pamela is exceedingly irritating, a Mary Sue who constantly faints. I know you’re going to mumble that Richardson’s and Fielding’s masterpieces are something else, but all these three novels I’m comparing are first novels—Frances Burney was 26 when she got Evelina published. 

3/ Frances Burney’s influence on Jane Austen is quite obvious. Look at this passage, for example: 

“His conversation was sensible and spirited; his air, and address were open and noble; his manners gentle, attentive, and infinitely engaging; his person is all elegance, and his countenance the most animated and expressive I have ever seen.” (Vol.1, Letter 11) 

Does that not sound like something one might come across in Jane Austen? I didn’t think “That sounds like Jane Austen” when I was reading Fielding or Richardson, but now with Burney, I sometimes do. 

Evelina is lively and spirited, highly adept at capturing people’s voices and conversations. 

““I am gone, Madam, I am gone!” with a most tragical air; and he marched away at a quick pace, out of sight in a moment; but before I had time to congratulate myself, he was again at my elbow.” (Vol.1, Letter 13) 

Like Austen, Frances Burney is wickedly funny. 

When Tom (Wuthering Expectations) was reading Evelina a few years ago, he noted: 

“For its first few pages, Evelina looks like an epistolary novel, like a Samuel Richardson novel.  “I am, dear Sir, with great regard” (Letter I) etc. 

[…] Evelina herself finally takes over in Letter VIII (only twelve pages into my Norton edition – now there’s a difference from Richardson – shorter letters) and the rhetorical mode changes, quickly, until the letters do not sound much like letters at all.  They are full of scenes, dialogue, characters, jokes, the usual novelistic stuff.  Maybe like a journal, but not really.  More like, you know, a novel. 

[…] One of Burney’s innovations is to merely gesture toward the conventions of the epistolary novel, keeping the interiority and moral reflection but dumping most of the rest of the epistolarity, unless she wants it for plotty reasons.” 

As an epistolary novel, Pamela is quite awkward—it starts as a correspondence and then becomes a journal because Pamela is detained by her lustful employer and cannot send letters—compared to Dangerous Liaisons, it doesn’t quite have the perfect construction (after all, Richardson was trying something new) and the realism (where does Pamela find the time to write all this stuff? and in secret?). But Tom is right that Evelina is even less of an epistolary novel than Pamela—it is indeed full of scenes, dialogue, characters, the novelistic stuff—I would probably say that Evelina is like a bridge between epistolary novels and Jane Austen’s comedies of manners. 

The Member of the Wedding: “an unjoined person who hung around in doorways”

1/ Himadri (Argumentative Old Git) has written at length about the characters in The Member of the Wedding and the themes of loneliness, identity, belonging, and so on—what can I possibly say?—so I’m gonna have to write about something else. 

Maybe Carson McCullers’s style? 

“She complained aloud, and her voice was fringed and sharp like the edge of a saw.” 

Later on: 

“So she sharpened her voice and chiselled the words.” 

Remember Nabokov’s idea that before the 19th century, writers didn’t “see” colours? “The sky was blue, the dawn red, the foliage green, the eyes of beauty black, the clouds grey, and so on”? 

“She opened her eyes, and it was night. The lavender sky had at last grown dark and there was slanted starlight and twisted shade. Her heart had divided like two wings and she had never seen a night so beautiful.” 

Lavender sky. 

“The air was chilled, and day after day the sky was a clear green-blue, but filled with light, the colour of a shallow wave.” 

Carson McCullers is not Flannery O’Connor, who fills her pages with strange and striking metaphors, but once in a while one comes across an interesting sentence in McCullers. 

“The noon air was thick and sticky as hot syrup, and there was the stifling smell of the dye-rooms from the cotton mill.” 

I like this: 

“In the silence of the kitchen they heard the tone shaft quietly across the room, then again the same note was repeated. A piano scale slanted across the August afternoon. A chord was struck. Then in a dreaming way a chain of chords climbed slowly upward like a flight of castle stairs…” 

This is an unusual sentence: 

“… But nevertheless there were times when Frances felt his presence there, solemn and hovering and ghost-grey.” 

These phrases are repeated later: “solemn”, “hovering”, “ghost-grey”. 

2/ As I read The Member of the Wedding, I couldn’t help thinking of the contrast between Carson McCullers and Flannery O’Connor—both female writers from the American South, about a decade apart. 

Carson McCullers is warm. Flannery O’Connor is cold. 

Tolstoy is warm. Flaubert, cold. Chekhov, warm. Ibsen, cold. Fielding, warm. Thackeray, warm. Choderlos de Laclos, cold. Dickens, warm. Jane Austen, I’d say cold. Vasily Grossman, warm. Nabokov, cold.

With Flannery O’Connor, you can feel her cold, pitiless stare as she cuts open her characters and studies them. Carson McCullers, in contrast, depicts her characters with compassion and warmth, even affection. 

3/ Much has been said about the central character of the book, Frankie, the 12-year-old tomboy who belongs to no club and who so desperately wants to belong, to be part of something that she fantasises about her brother’s wedding, wanting to join him and his wife and get out of her ugly little town. Himadri for example has written a very good blog post about Frankie, who calls herself F. Jasmine in the second section of the book (a name she adopts to group herself with her brother Jarvis and his bride Janice), and who becomes Frances in the final section. 

It is very good, but I don’t particularly remember 12-year-old me. Perhaps I blocked it out of my memory. 

So I’m more interested in Frankie’s black cook, Berenice. This is a black woman in the segregated South. This is a woman who first got married at the age of 13, just one year older than Frankie now, and who has gone through many bad marriages, each time worse than the last. This is a woman who has a blue glass eye because her last husband gouged out her eye. 

But she was happy once (I should say, she was adored once too). 

“‘I loved Ludie and he was the first man I loved.  Therefore, I had to go and copy myself forever afterward. What I did was to marry off little pieces of Ludie whenever I come across them. It was just my misfortune they all turned out to be the wrong pieces…’” 

It is heartbreaking. I suspect that when I have forgotten everything else about The Member of the Wedding, I will still remember Berenice. 

Joseph Andrews: “one Gentleman had thought proper to produce some Poetry upon me”

(Drawing of Parson Adams, by Thomas Rowlandson) 

1/ In an earlier blog post, I wrote that Joseph Andrews, like Vanity Fair over a century later, wasn’t rich in metaphor—Fielding is no Dickens. 

“No sooner had Joseph grasped his Cudgel in his Hands than Lightning darted from his Eyes; and the heroick Youth, swift of Foot, ran with the utmost speed to his Friend’s Assistance. He overtook him just as Rockwood had laid hold of the Skirt of his Cassock, which, being torn, hung to the ground. Reader, we would make a Simile on this occasion, but for two Reasons: the first is, it would interrupt the Description, which should be rapid in this Part; but that doth not weigh much, many Precedents occurring for such an Interruption: the second and much the greater Reason is, that we could find no Simile adequate to our Purpose: for indeed, what Instance could we bring to set before our Reader’s Eyes at once the Idea of Friendship, Courage, Youth, Beauty, Strength, and Swiftness? all which blazed in the Person of Joseph Andrews. Let those, therefore, that describe Lions and Tigers, and Heroes fiercer than both, raise their Poems or Plays with the Simile of Joseph Andrews, who is himself above the reach of any Simile.” (Vol.3, ch.6) 

Good, that. A simile would interrupt the description, but the intrusive narration does not? One can’t help liking Fielding. He has a charming authorial persona. 

“Thus far the Muse hath with her usual Dignity related this prodigious Battle, a Battle we apprehend never equalled by any Poet, Romance or Life-writer whatever, and, having brought it to a Conclusion, she ceased; we shall therefore proceed in our ordinary Style with the Continuation of this History.” 

This is a good scene, in which Parson Adams is chased by hounds and by someone who is “a great Hunter of Men” (for sport, not for meat). The following scene, at the Squire’s, is amusing—the Squire’s friends all play pranks on him, turning him into the butt of their jokes, “which the inoffensive Disposition of his own Heart made him slow in discovering”—it is clearly modelled after one scene in Don Quixote. There’s also a bit where Parson Adams, like Don Quixote, makes a fool of himself by dancing, “to the infinite Joy of the Beholders, who declared he was the best Dancer in the Universe.” 

(The quote in the headline comes from the same scene). 

One of the central differences between Parson Adams and Don Quixote is that we know Fielding’s character is unaware at first, because of his naïveté, then he realises and feels the insult, whereas with Cervantes, things are uncertain—is Don Quixote truly mad, or does he play mad? Is he a victim of cruel pranks, or does he know it but play along? Does he genuinely think he’s a knight, or does he know he’s not but choose to be one anyway? Does he live in delusion, seeing everything through a distorted lens, or does he fight against reality and against his own reason, wanting to mould his own fate? 

We don’t have such uncertainties about Parson Adams. We may have different opinions about him, but I don’t think he invites or allows for multiple interpretations. That is not to denigrate Fielding’s achievement. There are some characters so rich, so elusive, so full of meaning—like Don Quixote and Hamlet (shall I also say Moby Dick?)—that critics and readers ponder over them and argue about interpretation for centuries. That’s not the case for most great characters—even Tolstoy’s greatest characters such as Pierre, Andrei, Natasha, Anna, Levin… don’t invite contradictory interpretations—but they’re still great, in a different way. Parson Adams is a brilliant creation. Isn’t it difficult to create a kind, morally good character? To make them not only believable and rounded but also lovable? Think of all the morally good characters who feel too flat, too unrealistic, too insufferable, too priggish, etc. and you’ll realise how brilliant Parson Adams is. 

2/ After Parson Adams, I think the most delightful characters in Joseph Andrews are Lady Booby and her upper servant Mrs Slipslop, both of whom are older women who are horny for the youthful and handsome Joseph. 

As Joseph Andrews is a picaresque novel, it is episodic and the characters come and go. Some minor characters are very amusing—such as parson-farmer Trulliber, with the farcical scene in the pigsty, or Betty the kind chambermaid who gets fired for being horny—but Fielding generally moves quickly from them, brings the travellers to a different location, and introduces a new set of characters. Lady Booby and Mrs Slipslop have a more vivid existence because we stay with them for a while at the beginning of the novel, before Lady Booby kicks Joseph out of the house for rejecting her; we come across Mrs Slipslop again later during Joseph’s travel; and in the last volume, the travellers return to Booby Hall and we again meet them. 

Fielding depicts very well Lady Booby, who “loved, hated, pitied, scorned, admired, despised the same Person by Fits, which changed in a very short Interval”. She is very much like the lady in The Dog in the Manger by Lope de Vega. 

Mrs Slipslop is also very well-delineated—the kind of servant who looks down on other servants and always acts as though educated, not realising that she regularly uses the wrong word. Fielding gives her malapropism and a sexual appetite (“she was arrived at an Age when she thought she might indulge herself in any Liberties with a Man, without the Danger of bringing a third Person into the World to betray them”), thus giving the character more life. 

These two characters are delightful on their own—put together, they’re hilarious. 

 

3/ Earlier, Fielding wrote that he didn’t pick a simile because “it would interrupt the Description”. Let’s now look at another fighting scene, in which Joseph comes to save his damsel in distress: 

“… He no sooner came within Sight, and perceived her struggling with a Man, than, like a Cannon-ball, or like Lightning, or anything that is swifter, if anything be, he ran towards her…” (Vol.4, ch.7) 

What would Flaubert say? 

But this works—Fielding gets away with it because he is funny. 

In the end, there’s still not much to say about Joseph and Fanny: Fanny spends most of her time getting chased by lustful men and Joseph spends most of his time getting chased by horny women, and defending Fanny. “[For] all my Pleasure is centred in Fanny”, he says. 

Don Quixote and Joseph Andrews are both episodic, which is the nature of the form. Don Quixote holds our interest with the friendship between Don Quixote and Sancho Panza; in addition, Part 1 is held together by Don Quixote’s promise to Sancho about an ínsula; Part 2 is held together by Don Quixote’s goal to disenchant Dulcinea, not to mention the other characters’ knowledge of Part 1 and Don Quixote’s awareness of Avellaneda’s book.

Fielding’s picaresque novel doesn’t have anything to hold it together as such. One may argue that it’s the love story between Joseph and Fanny and all the obstacles thrown their way, but I think everyone would agree that they both are flat characters who are neither interesting by themselves nor interesting together. 

And yet, Fielding does get me to care—he gets me to want them happily married—possibly because Lady Booby is so unreasonable but so powerful, and because Parson Adams risks his livelihood to do the right thing and defend them. 

4/ The Rosinante of Parson Adams, here unnamed, has a funny moment: 

“Mr Adams, greatly exulting on this Occasion (for such Ceremonies were Matters of no small moment with him), accidentally gave Spurs to his Horse, which the generous beast disdaining—for he was of high Mettle, and had been used to more expert Riders than the Gentleman who at present bestrode him, for whose Horsemanship he had perhaps some Contempt—immediately ran away full speed, and played so many antic Tricks that he tumbled the Parson from his Back; which Joseph perceiving, came to his Relief.

[…] 

The Horse having freed himself from his unworthy Rider, as he probably thought him, proceeded to make the best of his way…” (Vol.4, ch.16) 

5/ The Penguin English library edition of Joseph Andrews includes, at the end, an essay by Mark Spilka about the comic resolution of the novel. 

He makes a good point that the bedroom scenes at Booby Hall “neither increase nor heighten the dramatic intensity of the incest plot; rather, they lessen its seriousness”. The next day, the characters are all merry, even Joseph and Fanny and more cheerful; “it becomes obvious that some sort of emotional purgation has occurred and that the resolution of the main plot will be anticlimactic.” 

I did have a blast with those scenes. 

Spilka writes: 

“… if passions never stop working, they are sometimes resolved, and that it is the business of a good comic writer to resolve them. In the night adventures at Booby Hall, Fielding has done just that; with the aid of condensed, violent action, he has stood his book on its head, shaken out of all the themes and passions, and resolved them through warmhearted laughter.” 

I have now finished reading Joseph Andrews. 

Joseph Andrews: “Knowledge of Men is only to be learnt from Books”

As I wrote in the earlier blog post about Joseph Andrews, Henry Fielding takes from Don Quixote the picaresque form: two—and later three—characters travel together and meet other characters along the way and sometimes the strangers may tell stories, creating some interpolated tales. Fielding also gets the inspiration to create a quixotic figure: Parson Adams is a good man, an idealistic man, a man who wants to do good and doesn’t mind using force to save the innocent, but he is absent-minded and naïve and “never saw farther into people than they desired to let him” (Vol.1, ch.10).

Like Don Quixote, he’s a reader. Parson Adams says to Joseph:  

“Knowledge of Men is only to be learnt from Books, Plato and Seneca for that; and those are Authors, I am afraid, Child, you never read.” (Vol.2, ch.16)

Of course, I myself have always said that we will never know a person in real life as well as we know Tolstoy’s characters, but we see over and over again that this man of learning is not particularly good at reading people. 

He also says to his host:  

“I will inform thee; the travelling I mean is in Books, the only way of travelling by which any Knowledge is to be acquired.” (Vol.2, ch.17)

This starts a heated discussion, in which he says “Trade, as Aristotle proves in his first Chapter of Politics, is below a Philosopher”, unaware of his own condescending and insulting tone, and gets refuted by the host: 

“Of what use would Learning be in a Country without Trade? What would all you Parsons do to clothe your Backs and feed your Bellies? Who fetches you your Silks, and your Linens, and your Wines, and all the other Necessaries of Life? I speak chiefly with regard to the Sailors.” (ibid.) 

In the character of Parson Adams, Fielding combines goodness and ridiculousness. Abraham Adams may not be a madman like Don Quixote, but he too is delusional—his delusion is that knowledge of life and people can be learnt from books alone, that he understands people better than someone without learning.

Fielding also pokes fun at him. When Mr Wilson relates the story of his life, for example, Parson Adams mentions his sermon against vanity and says “I am confident you would admire it: indeed, I have never been a greater Enemy to any Passion than that silly one of Vanity.” (Vol.3, ch.3) 

Mr Wilson smiles, and goes on with his story. 

Parson Abraham Adams is a very good creation. Likeable, believable. 

The chief flaw of Joseph Andrews though is that the travelling companions are not interesting together, that the novel lacks balance. In Parson Adams, Fielding creates a likeable and rounded character, but what is Joseph Andrews like? What is his personality? He’s barely there. We’re following them on a trip—later joined by Joseph’s girl Fanny Goodwill—but why should I care where they are going and what they are doing and whom they are meeting if I do not care about them both? Look at Don Quixote. Cervantes may be a bit careless about Sancho Panza at the beginning, focusing on Don Quixote, but he soon adds flesh to Sancho. Next to Don Quixote, Sancho too is full of life, Sancho too is interesting and individual. The two of them act as foil to each other, holding our interest—they go on adventures, they banter, they bicker, they bond, they gradually change each other. 

Even if you argue that Joseph Andrews is its own thing and we shouldn’t judge other books against Don Quixote (a contender for the title of greatest novel of all time), my point stands that Fielding’s travelling companions lack interaction and Joseph Andrews—the eponymous character!—doesn’t have much of a personality. 

Some readers would however say that Fielding makes up for it by his own presence: the narrator is warm and good-humoured and generous; he values goodness and depicts people’s hypocrisy and selfishness but still comes across as humane and tolerant of human failings. 

I’m currently on Volume 3. The book has 4 volumes. Let’s see if Joseph and Fanny become more interesting. 

The BBC’s 100 greatest British novels, and some top 5

What’s up with me and lists these days? I don’t know. Getting listless, I guess. But once in a while, I think it’s good to look at some lists and see the holes in one’s reading. 

The premise: “What does the rest of the world see as the greatest British novels?” 

I use a strikethrough for the books I have read. The tick is when I have seen a screen adaptation. 

100. The Code of the Woosters (PG Wodehouse, 1938)

99. There but for the (Ali Smith, 2011)

98. Under the Volcano (Malcolm Lowry,1947)

97. The Chronicles of Narnia (CS Lewis, 1949-1954) ✔

96. Memoirs of a Survivor (Doris Lessing, 1974)

95. The Buddha of Suburbia (Hanif Kureishi, 1990)

94. The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner (James Hogg, 1824)

93. Lord of the Flies (William Golding, 1954) ✔

92. Cold Comfort Farm (Stella Gibbons, 1932) ✔

91. The Forsyte Saga (John Galsworthy, 1922)

90. The Woman in White (Wilkie Collins, 1859)

89. The Horse’s Mouth (Joyce Cary, 1944)

88. The Death of the Heart (Elizabeth Bowen, 1938)

87. The Old Wives’ Tale (Arnold Bennett,1908)

86. A Legacy (Sybille Bedford, 1956)

85. Regeneration Trilogy (Pat Barker, 1991-1995)

84. Scoop (Evelyn Waugh, 1938)

83. Barchester Towers (Anthony Trollope, 1857)

82. The Patrick Melrose Novels (Edward St Aubyn, 1992-2012)

81. The Jewel in the Crown (Paul Scott, 1966)

80. Excellent Women (Barbara Pym, 1952)

79. His Dark Materials (Philip Pullman, 1995-2000)

78. A House for Mr Biswas (VS Naipaul, 1961)

77. Of Human Bondage (W Somerset Maugham, 1915)

76. Small Island (Andrea Levy, 2004)

75. Women in Love (DH Lawrence, 1920)

74. The Mayor of Casterbridge (Thomas Hardy, 1886)

73. The Blue Flower (Penelope Fitzgerald, 1995)

72. The Heart of the Matter (Graham Greene, 1948)

71. Old Filth (Jane Gardam, 2004)

70. Daniel Deronda (George Eliot, 1876)

69. Nostromo (Joseph Conrad, 1904)

68. A Clockwork Orange (Anthony Burgess, 1962) ✔

67. Crash (JG  Ballard 1973)

66. Sense and Sensibility (Jane Austen, 1811) ✔

65. Orlando (Virginia Woolf, 1928) ✔

64. The Way We Live Now (Anthony Trollope, 1875)

63. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (Muriel Spark, 1961) ✔

62. Animal Farm (George Orwell, 1945)

61. The Sea, The Sea (Iris Murdoch, 1978)

60. Sons and Lovers (DH Lawrence, 1913)

59. The Line of Beauty (Alan Hollinghurst, 2004)

58. Loving (Henry Green, 1945)

57. Parade’s End (Ford Madox Ford, 1924-1928)

56. Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit (Jeanette Winterson, 1985)

55. Gulliver’s Travels (Jonathan Swift, 1726)

54. NW (Zadie Smith, 2012)

53. Wide Sargasso Sea (Jean Rhys, 1966)

52. New Grub Street (George Gissing, 1891)

51. Tess of the d’Urbervilles (Thomas Hardy, 1891)

50. A Passage to India (EM Forster, 1924)

49. Possession (AS Byatt, 1990)

48. Lucky Jim (Kingsley Amis, 1954)

47. The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman (Laurence Sterne, 1759)

46. Midnight’s Children (Salman Rushdie, 1981)

45. The Little Stranger  (Sarah Waters, 2009)

44. Wolf Hall (Hilary Mantel, 2009)

43. The Swimming Pool Library (Alan Hollinghurst, 1988)

42. Brighton Rock (Graham Greene, 1938)

41. Dombey and Son (Charles Dickens, 1848)

40. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (Lewis Carroll, 1865) ✔

39.  The Sense of an Ending (Julian Barnes, 2011)

38. The Passion (Jeanette Winterson, 1987)

37. Decline and Fall (Evelyn Waugh, 1928)

36. A Dance to the Music of Time (Anthony Powell, 1951-1975)

35. Remainder (Tom McCarthy, 2005)

34. Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishiguro, 2005) ✔

33. The Wind in the Willows (Kenneth Grahame, 1908)

32. A Room with a View (EM Forster, 1908) ✔

31. The End of the Affair (Graham Greene, 1951) ✔

30. Moll Flanders (Daniel Defoe, 1722)

29. Brick Lane (Monica Ali, 2003)

28. Villette (Charlotte Brontë, 1853)

27. Robinson Crusoe (Daniel Defoe, 1719)

26. The Lord of the Rings (JRR Tolkien, 1954) ✔

25. White Teeth (Zadie Smith, 2000)

24. The Golden Notebook (Doris Lessing, 1962)

23. Jude the Obscure (Thomas Hardy, 1895) ✔

22. The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling (Henry Fielding, 1749)

21. Heart of Darkness (Joseph Conrad, 1899)

20. Persuasion (Jane Austen, 1817) ✔

19. Emma (Jane Austen, 1815) ✔

18. Remains of the Day (Kazuo Ishiguro, 1989) 

17. Howards End (EM Forster, 1910) ✔

16. The Waves (Virginia Woolf, 1931)

15. Atonement (Ian McEwan, 2001)

14. Clarissa (Samuel Richardson,1748)

13. The Good Soldier (Ford Madox Ford, 1915)

12. Nineteen Eighty-Four (George Orwell, 1949)

11. Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen, 1813) ✔

10. Vanity Fair (William Makepeace Thackeray, 1848)

9. Frankenstein (Mary Shelley, 1818)

8. David Copperfield (Charles Dickens, 1850) ✔

7. Wuthering Heights (Emily Brontë, 1847) ✔

6. Bleak House (Charles Dickens, 1853)

5. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Brontë, 1847) ✔

4. Great Expectations (Charles Dickens, 1861) ✔

3. Mrs. Dalloway (Virginia Woolf, 1925)

2. To the Lighthouse (Virginia Woolf, 1927)

1. Middlemarch (George Eliot, 1874) ✔

Just about a quarter. But I don’t really feel much guilt, as many titles here are recent and therefore of little interest to me.  

If I were to name the 5 greatest British novels, I would probably say: 

• Bleak House 
• Wuthering Heights 
• Middlemarch 
• Emma 
• Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass (as one book—yes, I’m cheating) 

These are all 19th century novels, I know, that’s my century. Perhaps my picks will be different when I have read Tom Jones and Tristram Shandy—we’ll see. But my choice for the greatest British novel, contrary to consensus, would be Bleak House. I know people praise Middlemarch for its psychological insight, rightly so, but my vote goes to Bleak House for its language, for its metaphors and motifs and patterns, for its multiple strands of stories and the two narrators, for its large canvas and intricate plot—Bleak House is, in my opinion, more inventive and artistically more interesting than Middlemarch. 

As we’re here, I might as well name my choices for 5 greatest Russian novels:

• Anna Karenina 
• War and Peace 
• The Brothers Karamazov 
• Dead Souls 
• The Gift 

The last one is subject to change— I haven’t read Eugene Onegin, I haven’t read Demons, I haven’t read Oblomov, I haven’t read The Master and Margarita, I haven’t read Platonov, I haven’t read Andrei Bely, etc.—we’ll see. But the two Tolstoy novels and The Brothers Karamazov are going to stay there. 

I haven’t read enough to talk about French novels, so here are my 5 greatest American novels: 

• Moby Dick 
• Lolita 
• Invisible Man
• The Sound and the Fury 
• The Age of Innocence 

This is an uncertain list, at least the last two. Moby Dick however is one of the three novels with which I’m most obsessed, and my pick for the Great American Novel. Planning to sail again with Ishmael this year. Lolita and Invisible Man are both great. For the last spot, on a different day, I might swap The Age of Innocence for The Portrait of a Lady, or The Scarlet Letter. But also, there are quite a few important American novels I haven’t read. 

Give me your top 5. We’re talking about greatest novels, not favourites. 

Also tell me about other countries too. 5 greatest Indian novels. Spanish. Italian. French. Japanese. Chinese. Whatever.  

BookRiot’s 100 must-read classics by “people of colour”

I personally detest (identity-obsessed, anti-white) BookRiot. I also don’t like the phrase “people of colour”, especially outside the West—a Japanese person in the US or elsewhere in the West may be called a person of colour, as white people are the dominant group—why would you call a Japanese woman in 11th century Japan a person of colour? she didn’t even know other races existed!—that phrase places white people in the centre of the world and everyone else is just vaguely “people of colour”. 

Anyway…  having said that, I find this an interesting list. The anti-Western canon philistines usually attack classic literature and, in the name of decolonisation and all that, promote contemporary fiction including YA. For the past several years, I have wanted to, and urged others to, read non-Western classics. So this list is interesting. 

I use a strikethrough for the books I have read, and add some comments.  

 

The Analects by Confucius (476). “A collection of Confucius’ sayings, compiled by his pupils shortly after his death in 497 B.C., and they reflect the extent to which Confucius held up a moral ideal for all men.”

(Di’s comment: The list includes a few poetry collections, then where is Tang poetry? Li Bai, Bai Juyi, Du Fu, Wang Wei, etc. I myself should read more, and will try to get hold of Vietnamese translations).

One Thousand and One Nights by Anonymous (800). “These are the tales that saved the life of Shahrazad, whose husband, the king, executed each of his wives after a single night of marriage.”

(Di’s comment: I have read some of them as a kid). 

The Pillow Book by Sei Shōnagon (1002). “Moving elegantly across a wide range of themes including nature, society, and her own flirtations, Sei Shōnagon provides a witty and intimate window on a woman’s life at court in classical Japan.”

The Diary of Lady Murasaki by Murasaki Shikibu (1008-1010). “The Diary recorded by Lady Murasaki (c. 973 c. 1020), author of The Tale of Genji, is an intimate picture of her life as tutor and companion to the young Empress Shoshi.”

(Di’s comment: No, the book to read is The Tale of Genji. That is Japan’s greatest work of literature. Murasaki Shikibu’s diary is of interest only to people who have read Genji). 

Theologus Autodidactus by Ibn Al-Nafis (1277). “This work, written sometime between 1268 and 1277, is one of the first Arabic novels, may be considered an early example of a science fiction, and an early example of a coming of age tale and a desert island story.”

The Confessions of Lady Nijō by Lady Nijō (1307). “A tale of thirty-six years (1271-1306)in the life of Lady Nijō, starting when she became the concubine of a retired emperor in Kyoto at the age of fourteen and ending, several love affairs later, with an account of her new life as a wandering Buddhist nun.”

On Love and Barley by Bashō Matsuo (late 1600s). “Bashō’s haiku are the work of an observant eye and a meditative mind, uncluttered by materialism and alive to the beauty of the world around him.”

(Di’s comment: I have read some Basho. Is he good? Yes. But I can’t help thinking that haiku is to blame for the silly is-that-really-poetry poems I keep seeing on the internet). 

Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio by Pu Songling (1740). “In his tales of shape-shifting spirits, bizarre phenomena, haunted buildings, and enchanted objects, Pu Songling pushes the boundaries of human experience and enlightens as he entertains.”

(Di’s comment: I’ve marked it as read even though I have not read all the stories—has anyone?—there are nearly 500 of them. I also grew up with screen adaptations of these tales. Enjoyable, though I don’t think there’s much to them artistically).

Phyllis Wheatley, Complete Writings by Phyllis Wheatley (1761). “This volume collects both Wheatley’s letters and her poetry: hymns, elegies, translations, philosophical poems, tales, and epyllions—including a poignant plea to the Earl of Dartmouth urging freedom for America and comparing the country’s condition to her own.”

Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano by Olaudah Equiano (1789). “The first slave narrative to attract a significant readership reveals many aspects of the eighteenth-century Western world through the experiences of one individual.”

The Golden Days (The Story of the Stone, part 1) by Cao Xueqin (1791). “This rich, magical work sets worldly events—love affairs, sibling rivalries, political intrigues, even murder—within the context of the Buddhist understanding that earthly existence is an illusion and karma determines the shape of our lives.”

(Di’s comment: Why would you read only Volume 1? That’s 26 chapters out of 120. I’ve read 85—the first 80 chapters are by Cao Xueqin and the last 40 are disputed—perhaps some day I will return and read the last 40 chapters out of curiosity, but 81-85 felt different enough for me to lose interest. But reading Volume 1 alone is not enough. Cao Xueqin’s qualities are not immediately obvious—it’s not the kind of genius that hits you right in the face like Melville’s or Tolstoy’s—I also think that it takes Cao Xueqin longer than Tolstoy or other major European novelists to give life to his characters, to give them a vivid existence).  

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (1845). “Dumas’ epic tale of suffering and retribution, inspired by a real-life case of wrongful imprisonment, was a huge popular success when it was first serialised in the 1840s.”

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass by Frederick Douglass (1845). “Douglass’ own account of his journey from slave to one of America’s great statesmen, writers, and orators is as fascinating as it is inspiring.”

Narrative of Sojourner Truth by Sojourner Truth (1850). “Truth recounts her life as a slave in rural New York, her separation from her family, her religious conversion, and her life as a traveling preacher during the 1840s.”

Twelve Years a Slave by Solomon Northup (1853). “Perhaps the best written of all the slave narratives, Twelve Years a Slave is a harrowing memoir about one of the darkest periods in American history.”

(Di’s comment: I have seen the film). 

Clotel; or, The President’s Daughter by William Wells Brown (1853). “A fast-paced and harrowing tale of slavery and freedom, of the hypocrisies of a nation founded on democratic principles, Clotel is more than a sensationalist novel.”

Biography of an American Bondman, By His Daughter by Josephine Brown (1855). “Josephine Brown (1839-?).was the youngest child of the abolitionist and author William Wells Brown (1814-1862).and his wife Elizabeth. She was moved to finish the book when she discovered that her father’s autobiography was out of print.”

Our Nig by Harriet E. Wilson (1859). “The tale of a mixed-race girl, Frado, abandoned by her white mother after the death of the child’s black father.”

Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Harriet Jacobs (1861). “A rare firsthand account of a courageous woman’s determination and endurance, this inspirational story also represents a valuable historical record of the continuing battle for freedom and the preservation of family.”

(Di’s comment: I’m not sure if I’ve read all of it, but I’ve definitely read at least some of it).

The Curse of Caste, or The Slave Bride by Julia C. Collins (1865). “The first novel ever published by a black American woman, it is set in antebellum Louisiana and Connecticut, and focuses on the lives of a beautiful mixed-race mother and daughter.”

Behind the Scenes: Or, Thirty Years a Slave and Four Years in the White House by Elizabeth Keckley (1868). “Traces Elizabeth Keckley’s life from her enslavement in Virginia and North Carolina to her time as seamstress to Mary Todd Lincoln in the White House during Abraham Lincoln’s administration.”

Life Among the Paiutes: Their Wrongs and Claims by Sarah Winnemucca (1883). “Sarah Winnemucca, daughter of a Paiute chief, presents in her autobiography a Native American viewpoint on the impact of whites settling in the West.”

Wynema: A Child of the Forest by S. Alice Callahan (1891). “The first novel known to have been written by a woman of American Indian descent. … it tells the story of a lifelong friendship between two women from vastly different backgrounds—Wynema Harjo, a Muscogee Indian, and Genevieve Weir, a Methodist teacher from a genteel Southern family.”

Iola Leroy by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (1892). “The story of the young daughter of a wealthy Mississippi planter who travels to the North to attend school, only to be sold into slavery in the South when it is discovered that she has Negro blood.”

A Chinese Ishmael and Other Stories by Sui Sin Far (1896). “Fictional stories about Chinese Americans, first published in 1896, were a reasoned appeal for her society’s acceptance of working-class Chinese at a time when the United States Congress maintained the Chinese Exclusion Act.”

Hawai’i’s Story by Hawai’i’s Queen by Queen Lili’uokalani (1898). “Possibly the most important work in Hawai’ian literature, Hawai’i’s Story is a poignant plea from Hawai’i’s queen to restore her people’s kingdom.”

Contending Forces: A Romance Illustrative of Negro Life North and South by Pauline Hopkins (1900). “Like Harriet Beecher Stowe, Pauline Hopkins writes of the injustices suffered by blacks at the hands of whites. But her novel penetrates deeper than Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”

Up From Slavery by Booker T. Washington (1900). “Washington reveals his inner most thoughts as he transitions from ex-slave to teacher and founder of one of the most important schools for African Americans in the south, The Tuskegee Industrial Institute.”

The Heart of Hyacinth by Onoto Watanna (1903). “The coming-of-age story of Hyacinth Lorrimer, a child of white parents who was raised from infancy in Japan by a Japanese foster mother and assumed to be Eurasian.”

The Souls of Black Folk by WEB Du Bois (1903). “Du Bois penned his epochal masterpiece … in 1903. It remains his most studied and popular work; its insights into life at the turn of the 20th century still ring true.”

I Am a Cat by Natsume Sōseki (1905). “The chronicle of an unloved, unwanted, wandering kitten who spends all his time observing human nature—from the dramas of businessmen and schoolteachers to the foibles of priests and potentates.”

(Di’s comment: I have not read I Am a Cat, but I would pick Kokoro. Some people might pick Kusamakura). 

The Soul of the Indian by Charles Alexander Eastman (1911). “Brings to life the rich spirituality and morality of the Native Americans as they existed before contact with missionaries and other whites.”

The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man by James Weldon Johnson (1912). “Narrated by a man whose light skin allows him to ‘pass’ for white, the novel describes a pilgrimage through America’s color lines at the turn of the century.”

The Home and the World by Rabindranath Tagore (1916). “Set on a Bengali noble’s estate in 1908, this is both a love story and a novel of political awakening. The central character, Bimala, is torn between the duties owed to her husband, Nikhil, and the demands made on her by the radical leader, Sandip.”

The Plays of Georgia Douglas Johnson by Georgia Douglas Johnson (1920s). “This volume collects twelve of Georgia Douglas Johnson’s one-act plays. … As an integral part of Washington, D.C.’s, thriving turn-of-the-century literary scene, Johnson hosted regular meetings with Harlem Renaissance writers and other artists, including Countee Cullen, Langston Hughes, May Miller, and Jean Toomer, and was herself considered among the finest writers of the time.”

American Indian Stories by Zitkala-Sa (1921). “One of the most famous Sioux writers and activists of the modern era, Zitkala-Sa (Gertrude Bonnin) recalled legends and tales from oral tradition and used experiences from her life and community to educate others about the Yankton Sioux.”

A Dark Night’s Passing by Naoya Shiga (1921). “Tells the story of a young man’s passage through a sequence of disturbing experiences to a hard-worn truce with the destructive forces within himself.”

The Real Story of Ah-Q and Other Tales of China by Lu Xun (1921). “Lu Xun is arguably the greatest writer of modern China, and is considered by many to be the founder of modern Chinese literature. Lu Xun’s stories both indict outdated Chinese traditions and embrace China’s cultural richness and individuality.”

(Di’s comment: Have I read Lu Xun? I must have). 

Selected Poems of Gabriela Mistral by Gabriela Mistral (1922). “Poems by the late Chilean poet who, in 1945, became the first Latin American author to win the Nobel Prize for Literature.”

Cane by Jean Toomer (1923). “A literary masterpiece of the Harlem Renaissance, Cane is a powerful work of innovative fiction evoking black life in the South.”

The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran (1923). “A collection of poetic essays that are philosophical, spiritual, and, above all, inspirational.”

There Is Confusion by Jessie Redmon Fauset (1924). “Traces the lives of Joanna Mitchell and Peter Bye, whose families must come to terms with an inheritance of prejudice and discrimination as they struggle for legitimacy and respect.”

Philosophy and Opinions of Marcus Garvey Or, Africa for the Africans by Marcus Garvey (1924). “The most famous collection of Garvey’s speeches and essays.”

The New Negro edited by Alain Locke (1925). “From the man known as the father of the Harlem Renaissance comes a powerful, provocative, and affecting anthology of writers who shaped the Harlem Renaissance movement and who help us to consider the evolution of the African American in society.”

Chaka by Thomas Mofolo (1925). “Tells the classic story of the Zulu hero Chaka.”

The Weary Blues by Langston Hughes (1926). “Hughes spoke directly, intimately, and powerfully of the experiences of African Americans, at a time when their voices were newly being heard in our literature.”

(Di’s comment: I have read a bit of Langston Hughes. When he’s good, he’s really good).

Rashomon and Other Stories by Ryūnosuke Akutagawa (1927). “Writing at the beginning of the twentieth century, Ryūnosuke Akutagawa created disturbing stories out of Japan’s cultural upheaval.”

(Di’s comment: Great choice. Akutagawa is one of my favourite short story writers. Possibly my favourite Japanese writer of the 20th century). 

Quicksand by Nella Larsen (1928). “Larsen’s powerful first novel has intriguing autobiographical parallels and at the same time invokes the international dimension of African American culture of the 1920s.”

Some Prefer Nettles by Jun’ichirō Tanizaki (1928). “It is a tale of sexual passion and disorientation that explores modern Japan’s conflict between the values of Western culture and Occidental tradition.”

(Di’s comment: I will not dismiss Tanizaki till I have read The Makioka Sisters, but so far I’m not particularly impressed. Some Prefer Nettles is rather flat and forgettable). 

Home to Harlem by Claude McKay (1928). “With sensual, often brutal accuracy, Claude McKay traces the parallel paths of two very different young men struggling to find their way through the suspicion and prejudice of American society.”

My People the Sioux by Luther Standing Bear (1928). “A landmark in Indian literature, among the first books about Indians written from the Indian point of view by an Indian.”

The Blacker the Berry by Wallace Thurman (1929). “One of the most widely read and controversial works of the Harlem Renaissance, The Blacker the Berry was the first novel to openly explore prejudice within the Black community.”

My Soul’s High Song: The Collected Writings of Countee Cullen by Countee Cullen (1920s-1940s). “A generous introduction to new readers of Countee Cullen and a more than generous offering to those of us who hold the poet dear.”

Crusade for Justice: The Autobiography of Ida B. Wells by Ida B. Wells (1930s). “This engaging memoir tells of her private life as mother of a growing family as well as her public activities as teacher, lecturer, and journalist in her fight against attitudes and laws oppressing blacks.”

Black No More by George S. Schuyler (1931). “What would happen to the race problem in America if black people turned white? Would everybody be happy? These questions and more are answered hilariously in Black No More, George S. Schuyler’s satiric romp.”

Jonah’s Gourd Vine by Zora Neale Hurston (1934). “Tells the story of John Buddy Pearson, ‘a living exultation’ of a young man who loves too many women for his own good.”

Native Son by Richard Wright (1940). “Tells the story of a young black man caught in a downward spiral after he kills a young white woman in a brief moment of panic.”

Love in a Fallen City by Eileen Chang (1943). “Written when Chang was still in her twenties, these extraordinary stories combine an unsettled, probing, utterly contemporary sensibility, keenly alert to sexual politics and psychological ambiguity, with an intense lyricism that echoes the classics of Chinese literature.”

Ficciones by Jorge Luis Borges (1944). “The seventeen pieces in Ficciones demonstrate the whirlwind of Borges’s genius and mirror the precision and potency of his intellect and inventiveness, his piercing irony, his skepticism, and his obsession with fantasy.”

Where There’s Love, There’s Hate by Silvina Ocampo and Adolfo Bioy Casares (1946). “Both genuinely suspenseful mystery fiction and an ingenious pastiche of the genre, the only novel co-written by two towering figures of Latin American literature.”

The Street by Ann Petry (1946). “The poignant, often heartbreaking story of Lutie Johnson, a young black woman, and her spirited struggle to raise her son amid the violence, poverty, and racial dissonance of Harlem in the late 1940s.”

The President by Miguel Ángel Asturias (1946). “A story of a ruthless dictator and his schemes to dispose of a political adversary in an unnamed Latin American country usually identified as Guatemala.”

The Living Is Easy by Dorothy West (1948). “One of only a handful of novels published by black women during the forties, the story of ambitious Cleo Judson is a long-time cult classic.”

The Tunnel by Ernesto Sabato (1948). “Sabato’s first novel is framed as the confession of the painter Juan Pablo Castel, who has murdered the only woman capable of understanding him.”

No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai (1948). “The poignant and fascinating story of a young man who is caught between the breakup of the traditions of a northern Japanese aristocratic family and the impact of Western ideas.”

Nisei Daughter by Monica Sone (1952). “A Japanese American woman tells how it was to grow up on Seattle’s waterfront in the 1930s and to be subjected to ‘relocation’ during World War II.”

The Palm-Wine Drinkard by Amos Tutuola (1952). “Drawing on the West African (Nigeria), Yoruba oral folktale tradition, Tutuola described the odyssey of a devoted palm-wine drinker through a nightmare of fantastic adventure.”

Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison (1952). “As he journeys from the Deep South to the streets and basements of Harlem, from a horrifying ‘battle royal’ where black men are reduced to fighting animals, to a Communist rally where they are elevated to the status of trophies, Ralph Ellison’s nameless protagonist ushers readers into a parallel universe that throws our own into harsh and even hilarious relief.”

(Di’s comment: My second choice for the Great American Novel title, after Moby Dick). 

Go Tell It on the Mountain by James Baldwin (1953). “With lyrical precision, psychological directness, resonating symbolic power, and a rage that is at once unrelenting and compassionate, Baldwin chronicles a fourteen-year-old boy’s discovery of the terms of his identity as the stepson of the minister of a storefront Pentecostal church in Harlem one Saturday in March of 1935.”

The Dark Child by Camara Laye (1954). “A distinct and graceful memoir of Camara Laye’s youth in the village of Koroussa, French Guinea.”

The Sound of Waves by Yukio Mishima (1954). “A timeless story of first love. It tells of Shinji, a young fisherman and Hatsue, the beautiful daughter of the wealthiest man in the village.”

(Di’s comment: The only Mishima I have read is Spring Snow. He’s a madman, but stylistically he’s much more interesting than Tanizaki and Kawabata. More visual. Great metaphors).  

Palace Walk by Naguib Mahfouz (1956). “The first novel in Nobel Prize-winner Naguib Mahfouz’s magnificent Cairo Trilogy, an epic family saga of colonial Egypt that is considered his masterwork.”

The Waiting Years by Fumiko Enchi (1957). “In a series of colorful, unforgettable scenes, Enchi brilliantly handles the human interplay within the ill-fated Shirakawa family.”

Memoirs of a Woman Doctor by Nawal El Saadawi (1958). “Rebelling against the constraints of family and society, a young Egyptian woman decides to study medicine, becoming the only woman in a class of men.”

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (1958). “Tells two overlapping, intertwining stories, both of which center around Okonkwo, a ‘strong man’ of an Ibo village in Nigeria.”

Nip the Buds, Shoot the Kids by Kenzaburō Ōe (1958). “Recounts the exploits of 15 teenage reformatory boys evacuated in wartime to a remote mountain village where they are feared and detested by the local peasants.”

The Guide by R. K. Narayan (1958). “Formerly India’s most corrupt tourist guide, Raju—just released from prison—seeks refuge in an abandoned temple. Mistaken for a holy man, he plays the part and succeeds so well that God himself intervenes to put Raju’s newfound sanctity to the test.”

(Di’s comment: I have read The English Teacher, The Bachelor of Arts, and Mr Sampath. Loved Narayan’s prose, struggled with certain Indian beliefs and customs). 

Brown Girl, Brownstones by Paule Marshall (1959). “This beloved coming-of-age story set in Brooklyn during the Depression and World War II follows the life of Selina Boyce, a daughter of Barbadians immigrants.”

A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry (1959). “Hansberry’s award-winning drama about the hopes and aspirations of a struggling, working-class family living on the South Side of Chicago connected profoundly with the psyche of black America—and changed American theater forever.”

Down Second Avenue by Es’kia Mphahlele (1959). “A landmark book that describes Mphahlele’s experience growing up in segregated South Africa. Vivid, graceful, and unapologetic, it details a daily life of severe poverty and brutal police surveillance under the subjugation of an apartheid regime..”

God’s Bits of Wood by Ousmane Sembène (1960). “In 1947-48 the workers on the Dakar-Niger railway came out on strike. This novel is an imaginative evocation of how those long days affected the lives of people who lived along the hundreds of miles of track.”

The Ambiguous Adventure by Cheikh Hamidou Kane (1961). “This long-unavailable classic tells the tale of young Samba Diallo, a devout pupil in a Koranic school in Senegal whose parents send him to Paris to study philosophy.”

A House for Mr Biswas by V.S. Naipaul (1961). “When he marries into the domineering Tulsi family on whom he indignantly becomes dependent, Mr. Biswas embarks on an arduous–and endless–struggle to weaken their hold over him and purchase a house of his own.”

The Woman in the Dunes by Kōbō Abe (1962). “After missing the last bus home following a day trip to the seashore, an amateur entomologist is offered lodging for the night at the bottom of a vast sand pit. But when he attempts to leave the next morning, he quickly discovers that the locals have other plans.”

(Di’s comment: Very good book, but I prefer the film). 

Selected Poems by Gwendolyn Brooks (1963). “Showcases an esteemed artist’s technical mastery, her warm humanity, and her compassionate and illuminating response to a complex world.”

A Backward Place by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala (1965). “Six colourful, comic characters inhabit A Backward Place. All but one are Westerners who have come to Delhi to experience an alternative way of life.”

The Interpreters by Wole Sowinka (1965). “The Nobel Laureate’s first novel spotlights a small circle of young Nigerian intellectuals living in Lagos.”

The Autobiography of Malcolm X by Malcolm X, as told to Alex Haley (1965). “In this riveting account, he tells of his journey from a prison cell to Mecca, describing his transition from hoodlum to Muslim minister.”

The River Between by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o (1965). “Christian missionaries attempt to outlaw the female circumcision ritual and in the process create a terrible rift between the two Kikuyu communities on either side of the river.”

Efuru by Flora Nwapa (1966). “Efuru, beautiful and respected, is loved and deserted by two ordinary undistinguished husbands.”

A Handful of Rice by Kamala Markandaya (1966). “The novel depicts the hard struggle of life in a modern city and its demoralization. Ravi , son of a peasant, joins in the general exodus to the city, and, floating through the indifferent streets, lands into the underworld of petty criminals.”

The Doctor’s Wife by Sawako Ariyoshi (1966). “This novel is really two stories: on the one hand, the successful medical career of Hanaoka Seishu, the first doctor in the world to perform surgery for breast cancer under a general anesthetic; on the other hand, the lives of his wife and his mother, who supported him with stoic resignation, even to the extent of finally volunteering to be used as guinea pigs in his experiments.”

Jubilee by Margaret Walker (1966). “Tells the true story of Vyry, the child of a white plantation owner and his black mistress. Vyry bears witness to the South’s antebellum opulence and to its brutality, its wartime ruin, and the promises of Reconstruction.”

The Time of the Hero by Mario Vargas Llosa (1966). “Set among a community of cadets in a Lima military school, it is notable for its experimental and complex employment of multiple perspectives.”

Black Rain by Masuji Ibuse (1966). “The story of a young woman who was caught in the radioactive ‘black rain’ that fell after the bombing of Hiroshima.”

Houseboy by Ferdinand Oyono (1966). “Toundi Ondoua, the rural African protagonist of Houseboy, encounters a world of prisms that cast beautiful but unobtainable glimmers, especially for a black youth in colonial Cameroon.”

Season of Migration to the North by Tayeb Salih (1966). “A rich and sensual work of deep honesty and incandescent lyricism. In 2001 it was selected by a panel of Arab writers and critics as the most important Arab novel of the twentieth century.”

Silence by Shūsaku Endō (1966). “Father Rodrigues is an idealistic Portuguese Jesuit priest who, in the 1640s, sets sail for Japan on a determined mission to help the brutally oppressed Japanese Christians and to discover the truth behind unthinkable rumours that his famous teacher Ferreira has renounced his faith.”

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Márquez (1967). “Tells the story of the rise and fall, birth and death of a mythical town of Macondo through the history of the Buendia family.”

Thousand Cranes by Yasunari Kawabata (1967). “While attending a traditional tea ceremony in the aftermath of his parents’ deaths, Kikuji encounters his father’s former mistress, Mrs. Ota. At first Kikuji is appalled by her indelicate nature, but it is not long before he succumbs to passion.”

(Di’s comment: I have read The Sound of the Mountain and Snow Country. Very Japanese. Prefer Naruse’s film adaptation of the former). 

Again, I have read very, very little. What do you think about this list?