Bumper bibliography
Apr. 27th, 2009 10:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_lady_lilyEmile – Rousseau
It was suggested that one read Emile during the 'women in 19th century German literature' course I took a while back, and that one should follow it up immediately with a dose of Mary Wollstonecraft. I am still in the midst of Wollstonecraft, but Rousseau stands on his own. This is the first piece of his that I have ever read, and while in some ways the writing is quite interesting, I don't feel particularly tempted to explore his work in greater detail.
Emile, in short, is Rousseau's manifesto for how one should educate a child, and had great currency as such. Well, I say a child, I mean boy, the ideal Emile of the title. The final section of the book is dedicated to Sophy, Emile's companion and wife-to-be, and what a damp and irritating rag she is! Petulant, spoilt and totally missing any kind of intellectual ability whatsoever, while Emile is supposed to be Manly and Unspoilt at her.
I can't work out whether it is this thoroughly patronising attitude to the female sex that irritated me most, or the rather creepy suggestion that the tutor of a boy should be manipulating all his discoveries behind his back - up to and including his choice of wife. Quite frankly, it's rather off-putting, and if I were to discover that my life partner had been engineered in such a way and that I had come across them in such a blatantly stage-managed manner... well, if I were Emile, I should be nice but too dim to really kick up a fuss about it all.
One really does get the image, at the close of the book, of the wily and wise tutor and his noble but dim pupil hopefully striding off into the sunset, with a frail flower of a woman waiting at home to bring them cups of tea when they return.
It was worth reading this. It was worth getting indignant about it. It was possibly not worth the very long discussion of religion that occurs in the middle, but that can't be helped.
Ms Mentor’s New and Ever More Impeccable Advice for Women and Men in Academia – Emily Toth
You may remember that I read the original Ms Mentor volume, although I appear not to have made a note of it in the bibliographies of times past (most curious). Ms Mentor has a column in the Chronicle of Higher Education, and aims to advise young and not-so-young on the correct path to take in academic life, academic politics, publishing and so on.
It's a fairly light and fluffy read, although with reasonably pointed sarcasm, and I got some helpful recommendations for further recommendations out of it. Don't bother with this is you aren't an academic, and if you are a UK academic, be aware that it is US-centric. All young US academics, however, could do far worse than have a flick through this on a quiet afternoon whilst enjoying a cup of tea.
Richard Krafft-Ebing - Psychopathia Sexualis
I decided to read this seminal work of psychiatry for several reasons. Firstly, it is the book that gave Sacher-Masoch his bad name, and having rather enjoyed Sacher-Masoch, I thought some investigation was in order. Suffice it to say that Krafft-Ebing does not appear to have been a good critical reader. Secondly, this is one of the forerunners of Freud, in that it begins the medicalisation of sexuality, begins to describe homosexual and lesbian behaviour in terms of medical aberation, and really popularised that kind of thinking in Europe at the beginning of the twentieth century. In some very odd ways, we are still living with the kinds of conclusions that Krafft-Ebing drew.
Thirdly, the naughty bits are written in Latin, and some small part of me rather wanted to stick two fingers up at the dignified German Herr Doktor who wrote in Latin precisely so people like me wouldn't be able to understand what he was writing about.
Quite frankly, I enjoyed reading this far more than I should have done. It's basically case studies interspersed with highly sonorous moralistic prose - and who would have thought this was such a recipe for giggles? The kinds of statements made about the natural roles of men and women are so obviously trite and ridiculous, but so heartfelt... the passage on True Love in the introduction had G and I rolling around in stitches. I am quite certain this was not the good Herr Doktor's intention, but it happened anyway.
It took me a long time to work through this, aided by other volumes along the way, and again, unless you have a particular interest in the subject, I wouldn't recommend it. I am wondering whether there might be a small piece on the reception of the Classics in Krafft-Ebing, or possibly even Krafft-Ebing and Sacher-Masoch, as they would make a neatly paired set, and Krafft-Ebing has an odd habit of referring to 'Messalinas', which might be quite fun to explore - but I don't expect most of you to be at all interested. If you do perchance pick up a copy, you can probably get the most value out of it by reading the introduction and skimming through some of the case studies.
Something Fresh – P G Wodehouse
After all of that heavy-weight stuff, something lighter seemed in order - so light, in fact, that it got polished off over the weekend. I have never read any Wodehouse before, but I thoroughly enjoyed this one and intend to investigate further, as time permits. This is the first of the Blandings Castle Saga (so only an occasional Wooster). The main figures of interest are Lord Emsworth, the resident absent-minded earl; his wastrel yet well-intentionedly amiable son Freddie; their butler, Beach; and milord's secretary, Baxter, who appears to have eyes and ears everywhere but never quite gets it right. Also of interest are Aline Peters, a quite frankly dim girl engaged to the Hon. Freddie, and her father, J. Preston Peters, an American millionare with digestive problems. They are joined by Ashe Marson, a writer of bad detective novels posing as Mr. Peters' valet, and Joan Valentine, a writer of bad romance stories posing as Aline's lady's maid.
The plot revolves around a scarab of Mr. Peters' possession, which finds its way into Lord Emsworth's possession without being supposed to, and it all goes a bit downhill from there. I shan't spoil it, but the plot is very neatly tied together, with some lovely touches of dialogue, and a wonderful portrait of life below and above stairs at a country house. There was also a good balance between plot twists you saw coming a mile off, and plot twists that caught you by surprise.
Wodehouse has, I think, a rather beautiful writing style; he just strolls off with you, arm in arm as it were, chatting cheerfully away, building detail upon detail upon detail until you suddenly find yourself shrieking with laughter. It's rather like having a pot of tea and a cake with one of those friends, who manages with an utter deadpan expression to say the most outrageous thing you've heard all week so you spurt Early Grey out of your nose.
Perhaps it's only me that has those kinds of friends. Anyway. I like Wodehouse very much, and think he is a rather nice cross between Evelyn Waugh and the sort of writer who is paid by the word so far. I look forward to exploring him further.
It was suggested that one read Emile during the 'women in 19th century German literature' course I took a while back, and that one should follow it up immediately with a dose of Mary Wollstonecraft. I am still in the midst of Wollstonecraft, but Rousseau stands on his own. This is the first piece of his that I have ever read, and while in some ways the writing is quite interesting, I don't feel particularly tempted to explore his work in greater detail.
Emile, in short, is Rousseau's manifesto for how one should educate a child, and had great currency as such. Well, I say a child, I mean boy, the ideal Emile of the title. The final section of the book is dedicated to Sophy, Emile's companion and wife-to-be, and what a damp and irritating rag she is! Petulant, spoilt and totally missing any kind of intellectual ability whatsoever, while Emile is supposed to be Manly and Unspoilt at her.
I can't work out whether it is this thoroughly patronising attitude to the female sex that irritated me most, or the rather creepy suggestion that the tutor of a boy should be manipulating all his discoveries behind his back - up to and including his choice of wife. Quite frankly, it's rather off-putting, and if I were to discover that my life partner had been engineered in such a way and that I had come across them in such a blatantly stage-managed manner... well, if I were Emile, I should be nice but too dim to really kick up a fuss about it all.
One really does get the image, at the close of the book, of the wily and wise tutor and his noble but dim pupil hopefully striding off into the sunset, with a frail flower of a woman waiting at home to bring them cups of tea when they return.
It was worth reading this. It was worth getting indignant about it. It was possibly not worth the very long discussion of religion that occurs in the middle, but that can't be helped.
Ms Mentor’s New and Ever More Impeccable Advice for Women and Men in Academia – Emily Toth
You may remember that I read the original Ms Mentor volume, although I appear not to have made a note of it in the bibliographies of times past (most curious). Ms Mentor has a column in the Chronicle of Higher Education, and aims to advise young and not-so-young on the correct path to take in academic life, academic politics, publishing and so on.
It's a fairly light and fluffy read, although with reasonably pointed sarcasm, and I got some helpful recommendations for further recommendations out of it. Don't bother with this is you aren't an academic, and if you are a UK academic, be aware that it is US-centric. All young US academics, however, could do far worse than have a flick through this on a quiet afternoon whilst enjoying a cup of tea.
Richard Krafft-Ebing - Psychopathia Sexualis
I decided to read this seminal work of psychiatry for several reasons. Firstly, it is the book that gave Sacher-Masoch his bad name, and having rather enjoyed Sacher-Masoch, I thought some investigation was in order. Suffice it to say that Krafft-Ebing does not appear to have been a good critical reader. Secondly, this is one of the forerunners of Freud, in that it begins the medicalisation of sexuality, begins to describe homosexual and lesbian behaviour in terms of medical aberation, and really popularised that kind of thinking in Europe at the beginning of the twentieth century. In some very odd ways, we are still living with the kinds of conclusions that Krafft-Ebing drew.
Thirdly, the naughty bits are written in Latin, and some small part of me rather wanted to stick two fingers up at the dignified German Herr Doktor who wrote in Latin precisely so people like me wouldn't be able to understand what he was writing about.
Quite frankly, I enjoyed reading this far more than I should have done. It's basically case studies interspersed with highly sonorous moralistic prose - and who would have thought this was such a recipe for giggles? The kinds of statements made about the natural roles of men and women are so obviously trite and ridiculous, but so heartfelt... the passage on True Love in the introduction had G and I rolling around in stitches. I am quite certain this was not the good Herr Doktor's intention, but it happened anyway.
It took me a long time to work through this, aided by other volumes along the way, and again, unless you have a particular interest in the subject, I wouldn't recommend it. I am wondering whether there might be a small piece on the reception of the Classics in Krafft-Ebing, or possibly even Krafft-Ebing and Sacher-Masoch, as they would make a neatly paired set, and Krafft-Ebing has an odd habit of referring to 'Messalinas', which might be quite fun to explore - but I don't expect most of you to be at all interested. If you do perchance pick up a copy, you can probably get the most value out of it by reading the introduction and skimming through some of the case studies.
Something Fresh – P G Wodehouse
After all of that heavy-weight stuff, something lighter seemed in order - so light, in fact, that it got polished off over the weekend. I have never read any Wodehouse before, but I thoroughly enjoyed this one and intend to investigate further, as time permits. This is the first of the Blandings Castle Saga (so only an occasional Wooster). The main figures of interest are Lord Emsworth, the resident absent-minded earl; his wastrel yet well-intentionedly amiable son Freddie; their butler, Beach; and milord's secretary, Baxter, who appears to have eyes and ears everywhere but never quite gets it right. Also of interest are Aline Peters, a quite frankly dim girl engaged to the Hon. Freddie, and her father, J. Preston Peters, an American millionare with digestive problems. They are joined by Ashe Marson, a writer of bad detective novels posing as Mr. Peters' valet, and Joan Valentine, a writer of bad romance stories posing as Aline's lady's maid.
The plot revolves around a scarab of Mr. Peters' possession, which finds its way into Lord Emsworth's possession without being supposed to, and it all goes a bit downhill from there. I shan't spoil it, but the plot is very neatly tied together, with some lovely touches of dialogue, and a wonderful portrait of life below and above stairs at a country house. There was also a good balance between plot twists you saw coming a mile off, and plot twists that caught you by surprise.
Wodehouse has, I think, a rather beautiful writing style; he just strolls off with you, arm in arm as it were, chatting cheerfully away, building detail upon detail upon detail until you suddenly find yourself shrieking with laughter. It's rather like having a pot of tea and a cake with one of those friends, who manages with an utter deadpan expression to say the most outrageous thing you've heard all week so you spurt Earl
Perhaps it's only me that has those kinds of friends. Anyway. I like Wodehouse very much, and think he is a rather nice cross between Evelyn Waugh and the sort of writer who is paid by the word so far. I look forward to exploring him further.
