For fellow lovers of The Pickwick Papers

Pickwick is in Dickens’s career the mere mass of light before the creation of sun or moon. It is the splendid, shapeless substance of which all his stars were ultimately made. You might split up Pickwick into innumerable novels as you could split up that primeval light into innumerable solar systems. The Pickwick Papers constitute first and foremost a kind of wild promise, a pre-natal vision of all the children of Dickens. ... Dickens, like every other honest and effective writer, came at last to some degree of care and self-restraint. He learned how to make his dramatis personæ assist his drama; he learned how to write stories which were full of rambling and perversity, but which were stories. But before he wrote a single real story, he had a kind of vision. It was a vision of the Dickens world—a maze of white roads, a map full of fantastic towns, thundering coaches, clamorous market-places, uproarious inns, strange and swaggering figures. That vision was Pickwick.

G.K. Chesterton, Appreciations and Criticisms
of the Works of Charles Dickens

I avoided The Pickwick Papers for a long time because I heard how they weren't really a good book, not really Dickens as he was in his other works. Once I tried them, I loved them. And then I felt a little shame-faced to admit it. It made me glad to see G.K. Chesterton championing them.

Lagniappe — Rudyard Kipling on Edgar Rice Burroughs

On Tuesday we saw Ray Bradbury's tribute to Edgar Rice Burroughts.

Here's another, and perhaps more surprising, author going on the record about Edgar Rice Burroughs. I like his generous attitude.

My Jungle Books begat zoos of [imitators]. But the genius of all the genii was one who wrote a series called Tarzan of the Apes. I read it, but regret I never saw it on the films, where it rages ost successfully. He had "jazzed" the motif of the Jungle Books and, I imagine, had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He was reported to have said that he wanted to find out how bad a book he could write and "get away with," which is a legitimate ambition.

Rudyard Kipling

Lagniappe — Ray Bradbury on Edgar Rice Burroughs

Edgar Rice Burroughs never would have looked upon himself as a social mover and shaker with social obligations. But as it turns out — and I love to say it because it upsets everyone terribly — Burroughs is probably the most influential writer in the entire history of the world. ... By giving romance and adventure to a whole generation of boys, Burroughs caused them to go out and decide to become special.

Ray Bradbury

This tickles me. And I agree!

Tea and Objectionable Practice

I have understood that it was, to the last, her proudest boast, that she never had been on the water in her life, except upon a bridge; and that over her tea (to which she was extremely partial) she, to the last, expressed her indignation at the impiety of mariners and others, who had the presumption to go 'meandering' about the world. It was in vain to represent to her that some conveniences, tea perhaps included, resulted from this objectionable practice.

Charles Dickens, David Copperfield

I always forget just how funny Dickens can be and how well he slips his jokes into the main narrative.

The Tall Horse and Mr. Winkle

Now whether the tall horse, in the natural playfulness of his disposition, was desirous of having a little innocent recreation with Mr. Winkle, or whether it occurred to him that he could perform the journey as much to his own satisfaction without a rider as with one, are points upon which, of course, we can arrive at no definite and distinct conclusion. By whatever motives the animal was actuated, certain it is that Mr. Winkle had no sooner touched the reins, than he slipped them over his head, and darted backwards to their full length.

Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers

This made me laugh out loud. Dickens can be so very funny and, of course, The Pickwick Papers are loaded with his humor from beginning to end.

Louisia's idea for a TV show

He went to fetch more beers, and by the time he got back Louisa was telling Shirley her idea for a TV show, which would open with a view of Tom Hiddleston walking down a long, long, corridor, shot from behind.

River waited. "Then what?" he asked at last.

But the women had misted over, and didn't hear him.

Mick Herron, London Rules

What? Oh, sorry. I was mentally picturing that view of Tom Hiddleston and misted over.

Christmas with Charles Dickens

The best sitting room at Manor Farm was a good, long, dark-paneled room with a high chimney-piece, and a capacious chimney, up which you could have driven one of the new patent cabs, wheels and all. At the upper end of the room, seated in a shady bower of holly and evergreens, were the two best fiddlers, and the only harp, in all Muggleton. In all sorts of recesses, and on all kinds of brackets, stood massive old silver candlesticks with four branches each. The carpet was up, the candles burnt bright, the fire blazed and crackled on the hearth, and merry voices and light-hearted laughter range through the room.

Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers

Christmas with Washington Irving

 

It is, indeed, the season of regenerated feeling--the season for kindling, not merely the fire of hospitality in the hall, but the genial flame of charity in the heart.

Washington Irving, Old Christmas

Christmas Eve Lagniappe

And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.

Dr. Seuss 

No Room to Swing a Cat

Mrs. Crupp had indignantly assured him that there wasn't room to swing a cat there; but, as Mr. Dick justly observed to me, sitting down on the foot of the bed, nursing his leg, "You know, Trotwood, I don't want to swing a cat. I never do swing a cat. Therefore, what does that signify to ME!"

Charles Dickens, David Copperfield

Dickens has some of the most amusing characters and dialogue of anyone. Not an original observation, of course, but he continually cracks me up.

Lovecraftian School Board Member Wants Madness Added To Curriculum

"Our schools are orderly, sanitary places where students dwell in blissful ignorance of the chaos that awaits," West said. "Should our facilities be repaired? No, they must be razed to the ground and rebuilt in the image of the Cyclopean dwellings of the Elder Gods, the very geometry of which will drive them to be possessed by visions of the realms beyond." ...

"Charles sure likes to bang on that madness drum," fellow school board member Danielle Kolker said. "I'm not totally sold on his plan to let gibbering, half-formed creatures dripping with ichor feed off the flesh and fear of our students. But he is always on time to help set up for our spaghetti suppers, and his bake sale goods are among the most popular."

"I must admit, he's very convincing," Kolker added.

This excerpt is from one of my favorite of The Onion's pieces. I enjoy rereading it every year. Do go read it all.

The Autumn People

For some, autumn comes early, stays late through life where October follows September and November touches October and then instead of December and Christ's birth, there is no Bethlehem star, no rejoicing, but September comes again and old October and so on down the years, with no winter, spring, or revivifying summer. For these beings, fall is the ever normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? The grave. Does blood stir their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth. In gusts they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen, and surely cloud all clear-run waters. The spider-web hears them, trembles -- breaks. Such are the autumn people. Beware of them.

Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes

Proof that horror fantasy can also be poetic.

Halloween Lagniappe: H.P. Lovecraft

Through all this horror my cat stalked unperturbed. Once I saw him monstrously perched atop a mountain of bones, and wondered at the secrets that might lie behind his yellow eyes.

H.P. Lovecraft, The Rats in the Walls

Another of my favorite horror authors chimes in for Halloween from one of my favorite of his stories. A lesser tale, but still a good 'un.

How a gentleman shouldn't go to the devil

Flambeau had known Quinton in wild student days in Paris, and they had renewed the acquaintance for a week-end; but apart from Flambeau’s more responsible developments of late, he did not get on well with the poet now; choking oneself with opium and writing little erotic verses on vellum was not his notion of how a gentleman should go to the devil.

G.K. Chesterton, The Wrong Shape

Chesterton is just so darned funny. And this is just a toss off line in a Father Brown mystery.

Mine is a simple system

Mine is a simple system. I read from morning till bedtime, with breaks for my job, my family, meetings with friends, exercise, household chores and periodic reviews of my life's greatest blunders.

Michael Dirda, 10 Rules for Reading from Someone Who Does It for a Living

I don't read for a living, but I am often asked how I read so many books. My system is identical to Dirda's.

"It's hard to get clos'r to a chicken goin' at him head on..."

A chicken lived every situation, every moment, like it was brand-new, and so lived in a constant state of wonder and surprise. "It's hard to get closr to a chicken goin' at him head-on," the old man said, because, though chickens had tiny brains, most of these brains seemed devoted to suspicion.

Rick Bragg, The Best Cook in the World

We kept chickens for a while when I was young. My mother found them frustrating, but also relaxing with their clucking, scratching, and general gossip sessions amongst themselves.

It's her 90th birthday today. It's the excuse for a family reunion so it will be full of good food and laughter and talk. We will not, however, be eating chicken. We're having TexMex for this celebration.

This quote and today's chicken picture are a little blog gift for her. Happy birthday, Mom!

Lagniappe

It is the food of the high places, of the foothills, pine barrens, and slow brown rivers. It is not something done by the great chefs of Atlanta or Birmingham for people who spend more on a table for four than a working class family spends on groceries for a month. It was never intended for everyone, but for people who once set a trotline, or slung a wrench, or rose from a seat in the ciety auditorium to testify during an all-night gospel singing.

Rick Bragg, The Best Cook in the World

As I've mentioned before, this is one of my favorite comfort books.

Stewed Cabbage and Perfect Validation

My uncle Jimbo is not a gourmet, or an unbiased and veracious critic; he once ate a bologna sandwich sitting on a dead mule, to win a bet, and can out-lie any man I have ever known. But he would tell her, hot tears rolling down his cheeks, that he has not eaten stewed cabbage that fine since his momma was alive. My mother never needed much validation beyond that, no grander praise.

Rick Bragg, The Best Cook in the World

From one of my favorite books which is family memoir, light-hearted history of family cooking, and a loving memory of his mother.

Great First Line: Twelve Fair Kingdoms

I should have known something was very wrong when the Mules started flying erratically.

Twelve Fair Kingdoms by Suzette Haden Elgin

You've got to want to read this after that line, just to find out what it's talking about!

Great First Line: Equal Rites

This is a story about magic and where it goes and perhaps more importantly where it comes from and why, although it doesn't pretend to answer all or any of these questions.

Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett

I don't love the book, but I do love that line.