I mean, I don't 100% identify with Emily. I found one little bit, when Emily compulsively chokes down one of kind Cousin Jimmy's peppermints, hard to relate to. I love peppermints. I even enjoy those red and white wheels made of ceramic.
L.M.'s portrayal of Emily's decision to hide under the table and listen in on the Murrays' decision about who should raise her conveys a sense of motion that is almost televisual in effect. "There was a flash of black stockings across the rug, a sudden disturbance of drapery and then - silence." And I think her dramatic outburst upon hearing Aunt Ruth slur her father as a failure shows the difference between herself and the composed Murrays very well. They seem much more human in that moment after Emily is escorted out of the room, when they all groan at the prospect of adopting such a challenging child.
And it's funny that they make such a show of leaving Emily's future to fate, when she should clearly go with the adults who actually sympathize with her, Cousin Jimmy and Aunt Laura. The hierarchy of family authority prevented them from claiming her outright, I suppose.
The immediate destruction of Emily's world of cats and words made me sad. How could Aunt Elizabeth make her choose between her cats? I have two cats, one an orange fluffer and one a sleek calico, and I'd be hard pressed to pick just one. An even harsher blow, though, came to the little wordsmith through Aunt Elizabeth's refusal to let her private thoughts stay private. L.M. made the thing seem so cruel, with Emily choosing to burn her words rather than see them made ridiculous. I think her father's decision to raise her without the discipline of convention set her up to suffer during the transition from his care to that of the Murrays, who pride themselves on being masters of propriety.
I enjoyed the description of their stopover in Charlottetown. I love L.M.'s descriptions of clothing, and I like to imagine Emily's nice new dresses. And the magic of New Moon to Emily's unfamiliar eyes, delightful! The sorrow of the little "fathersick" girl, contrasted with Aunt Elizabeth's rigidity, made me feel terrible for Emily. Fortunately the Wind Woman swept in to comfort her.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Chapters 4-6, On to New Moon
Hello Ladies,
Perhaps it is the fact that I read the sensible frontier oriented Little House books growing up, but I begin to question my connection to the magical and mystical listening to you two describe your connections to Emily. To me, those times when Montgomery's heroes and heroines are off naming trees and running with the Wind Woman always seem the most fanciful and unrealistic, but maybe I was just a too pragmatic a child grown into a too prosaic adult.
Adonia, I think you are definitely right about the Gothic qualities of this book. One of my favorite passages in these chapters was the description of the New Moon kitchen: "[The kitchen] had dark wooden walls and low ceiling, with black rafters crossing it, from which hung hams and sides of bacon and bunches of herbs and new socks and mittens, and many other things, the names and uses of which Emily could not imagine." How evocative! From a child's perspective the ceiling must have been so high and shadowy by candle light.
Also Gothic was Emily's farewell to her father, kissing the cold glass. Poor little girl. It does seem amazing that our cultural understanding of children could have changed so much in a relativity short amount of time.
On that front though, I am optimistic about the folks at New Moon. It seems like between the three of them they have all the makings of a proper supportive environment for Emily. Aunt Laura can give her unconditional love, Cousin Jimmy can be whimsical and give her candy, and Aunt Elizabeth can teach her that it is rude to eavesdrop. Did anyone else find it interesting that Emily's main sin of sitting under the table during the Murray meeting was one of rudeness. I feel like now we would just say "what a bad little girl," while they were all saying "what a willfully rude little girl."
I very much liked Vera's imagery of Emily as the bright "Starr." There was a nice passage to that effect in the 6th chapter, when Aunt Elizabeth won't open the window at night: "oh, for the dancing friendliness of well-known stars shining down through her open window!" An image of Emily searching for family and a kindred spirit. If this were an Anne book, I would say she might find one, but I'm not on solid predicting ground with Emily yet.
And why do I keep finding myself drawn to the comparisons between our mores and Emily's? I guess it is these differences that I find most striking. I'm sure there will be some adventures in New Moon though, to distract me from historical comparisons, if I'm any judge of Montgomery.
Till then, in bed with a griffin,
Sarah
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
At the Beginning Again
Hello fellow Emily enthusiasts! As the youngest member of this small "club", it is imperative that I express my eagerness and absolute joy at participating in this project.
Now that's done, I'm going to have to admit right off that I do not find Douglas Starr's behavior with regard to Ellen Greene to be in any way detestable, contemptuous, or even mean. Surely, it isn't quite right that he should be so candid in expressing his opinions to small, impressionable Emily, but I cannot find fault in his opinion. As one who is just leaving childhood behind, I think I am more inclined to see things as Emily does and it can be argued that Douglas Starr perhaps regresses in his proximity to death (causing him to retain a childish mindset). From the eyes of a child, Ellen Greene is contemptible herself and exactly what she is said to be: "a fat, lazy old thing of no importance." She is indelicate.
Not so crude as Ellen, though undeniably as lacking in the qualities Emily looks for in her surroundings, are the stately Murrays. I like them, even for all their standoffish and prideful ways. They have character. L.M. Montgomery has as much of the gift for description of people as her favorite heroine (Emily) does. The Murray clan seems more alive on the page than Ellen Greene and Douglas Starr, no pun intended.
Now, the people I feel are wronged by Douglas Starr's adamant opinions are the Murrays. He, of course, was wronged by them when Emily's mother Juliet eloped with him and disgraced her family, but he lets this cloud his judgment of otherwise respectable, if not likable persons. The Murrays aren't all bad, after all. Cousin Jimmy is nice, Aunt Laura is sweet, Uncle Oliver and his wife Addie are at the very least jolly. Even Aunt Elizabeth wishes to some degree to be liked by Emily, though she stands by her own outdated and firm beliefs. Only Aunt Ruth and Uncle Wallace can be described as dour or unpleasant.
In all this relative negativity is Emily herself, an imaginative and bright Starr among dark Ellen Greenes and Uncle Wallaces. Her mind, though childlike and naive, is also developed and very sensitive. She has a wonderful instinctive sense of things just as they are. She is fanciful, but not in any detrimental way to her happiness with reality. She copes with the issue of her father's illness and death remarkably well which does, as Sarah says, evoke a sense of how accepted death was at that time as opposed to now, when death is never even addressed to most children.
Emily possesses an ability to appreciate natural beauty and the beauty of words, just beauty. This is a rare trait to discover in anyone, let alone a young girl. In my mind, Emily's "flashes" are her own special realizations of beauty in all its forms. Montgomery creates beauty herself just in being able to translate this idea and Emily's personality in written words. I am beginning to regret not having read the Emily books in my childhood, as I identify so strongly with many of her characteristics. Since I find Emily Byrd Starr to be a "kindred spirit", I will presume to sign off as
Emily-in-the-glass
Now that's done, I'm going to have to admit right off that I do not find Douglas Starr's behavior with regard to Ellen Greene to be in any way detestable, contemptuous, or even mean. Surely, it isn't quite right that he should be so candid in expressing his opinions to small, impressionable Emily, but I cannot find fault in his opinion. As one who is just leaving childhood behind, I think I am more inclined to see things as Emily does and it can be argued that Douglas Starr perhaps regresses in his proximity to death (causing him to retain a childish mindset). From the eyes of a child, Ellen Greene is contemptible herself and exactly what she is said to be: "a fat, lazy old thing of no importance." She is indelicate.
Not so crude as Ellen, though undeniably as lacking in the qualities Emily looks for in her surroundings, are the stately Murrays. I like them, even for all their standoffish and prideful ways. They have character. L.M. Montgomery has as much of the gift for description of people as her favorite heroine (Emily) does. The Murray clan seems more alive on the page than Ellen Greene and Douglas Starr, no pun intended.
Now, the people I feel are wronged by Douglas Starr's adamant opinions are the Murrays. He, of course, was wronged by them when Emily's mother Juliet eloped with him and disgraced her family, but he lets this cloud his judgment of otherwise respectable, if not likable persons. The Murrays aren't all bad, after all. Cousin Jimmy is nice, Aunt Laura is sweet, Uncle Oliver and his wife Addie are at the very least jolly. Even Aunt Elizabeth wishes to some degree to be liked by Emily, though she stands by her own outdated and firm beliefs. Only Aunt Ruth and Uncle Wallace can be described as dour or unpleasant.
In all this relative negativity is Emily herself, an imaginative and bright Starr among dark Ellen Greenes and Uncle Wallaces. Her mind, though childlike and naive, is also developed and very sensitive. She has a wonderful instinctive sense of things just as they are. She is fanciful, but not in any detrimental way to her happiness with reality. She copes with the issue of her father's illness and death remarkably well which does, as Sarah says, evoke a sense of how accepted death was at that time as opposed to now, when death is never even addressed to most children.
Emily possesses an ability to appreciate natural beauty and the beauty of words, just beauty. This is a rare trait to discover in anyone, let alone a young girl. In my mind, Emily's "flashes" are her own special realizations of beauty in all its forms. Montgomery creates beauty herself just in being able to translate this idea and Emily's personality in written words. I am beginning to regret not having read the Emily books in my childhood, as I identify so strongly with many of her characteristics. Since I find Emily Byrd Starr to be a "kindred spirit", I will presume to sign off as
Emily-in-the-glass
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Returning to an Old Friend
I, Adonia, am a 27 year old who studies cultural anthropology. I'm looking forward not only to reflecting on these three books on this blog, but also to seeing the impressions they give my friend Sarah, who has not read them, and my little sister Vera, who read them just once.
L.M. Montgomery's descriptions of Emily and the way she sees the world had a profound impact on my identity as I grew up. I can't remember when I first read the books; sometime after reading the Anne books, probably around age 11 or 12. I found in Emily a mirror for my own solitary tendencies, my own joy in the beauty of a landscape. I used to read these books over and over, considering a Saturday spent immersed in one to be quality time. I took them to college with me, tattered as they were, but somewhere over the years since then I lost my original copies. When we decided to write this blog I was happy to think that I'd have an excuse to buy new ones.
So, cracking a new copy of Emily of New Moon filled me with tremendous pleasure. Would I love her as much? Would I have grown too different in the 10 years since these books fed my visions of what my future would be?
The book starts with one of Emily's raptures over her pastoral surroundings. She flies through the air with her fairy spirits, overcome with feeling the picturesque world around her. And then it comes crashing down with Ellen Greene's blunt statement about her papa's impending death. One aspect of Montgomery's works that I've noticed more as an adult reader is the way she portrays contemporary (early 1900s) views on children. Ellen thinks she is helping Emily by revealing Douglas Starr's illness, but I think the reader is supposed to sympathize with the sensitive little girl and her contemptuous father (I agree with Sarah that the rude descriptions of Ellen reflect poorly on the dying Starr, but I cut him some slack since he never got over losing Emily's mother. I really sympathized with him when I was reading this first part because I was melancholy about being separated from someone dear to me).
Emily has existed in an unconventional world of words and imagination, kept sheltered from the worldly view that her father is a failure and her mother a disgrace to her family. I think Montgomery does a great job of setting up the contrast between this bohemian existence and the strident Protestantism of the Murrays, who seem awfully petty and their treatment of that poor little girl grotesque.
How fascinating that Montgomery paints so keenly Emily's anxiety over the world at the same time that her setting has no tolerance for such sensitivity! It's almost gothic.
I'd like my sign off to be Wind Woman, but that's a little too hippie for me. I shall be, instead,
-The Flash
L.M. Montgomery's descriptions of Emily and the way she sees the world had a profound impact on my identity as I grew up. I can't remember when I first read the books; sometime after reading the Anne books, probably around age 11 or 12. I found in Emily a mirror for my own solitary tendencies, my own joy in the beauty of a landscape. I used to read these books over and over, considering a Saturday spent immersed in one to be quality time. I took them to college with me, tattered as they were, but somewhere over the years since then I lost my original copies. When we decided to write this blog I was happy to think that I'd have an excuse to buy new ones.
So, cracking a new copy of Emily of New Moon filled me with tremendous pleasure. Would I love her as much? Would I have grown too different in the 10 years since these books fed my visions of what my future would be?
The book starts with one of Emily's raptures over her pastoral surroundings. She flies through the air with her fairy spirits, overcome with feeling the picturesque world around her. And then it comes crashing down with Ellen Greene's blunt statement about her papa's impending death. One aspect of Montgomery's works that I've noticed more as an adult reader is the way she portrays contemporary (early 1900s) views on children. Ellen thinks she is helping Emily by revealing Douglas Starr's illness, but I think the reader is supposed to sympathize with the sensitive little girl and her contemptuous father (I agree with Sarah that the rude descriptions of Ellen reflect poorly on the dying Starr, but I cut him some slack since he never got over losing Emily's mother. I really sympathized with him when I was reading this first part because I was melancholy about being separated from someone dear to me).
Emily has existed in an unconventional world of words and imagination, kept sheltered from the worldly view that her father is a failure and her mother a disgrace to her family. I think Montgomery does a great job of setting up the contrast between this bohemian existence and the strident Protestantism of the Murrays, who seem awfully petty and their treatment of that poor little girl grotesque.
How fascinating that Montgomery paints so keenly Emily's anxiety over the world at the same time that her setting has no tolerance for such sensitivity! It's almost gothic.
I'd like my sign off to be Wind Woman, but that's a little too hippie for me. I shall be, instead,
-The Flash
A New Start for Emily, a New Start for Us
Hello and welcome, ladies, to the Emily conversation! I’m the newbie so I will go first. This first post will cover the first three chapters of Emily of New Moon by L. M. Montgomery. In these chapters we see Emily before, during, and after her father’s death from what sounded to me like Tuberculosis. Plot-wise it was pretty much all set up.
I’ll just give a quick overview: Chapter 1, Emily is a carefree child who has lived in a secluded country house with her father and a grumpy old housekeeper. She has created imaginary friends out of the wind, and the trees, and her own reflection. At the end of this chapter, the house keeper Ellen Greene (fat, lazy old thing of no importance) tells Emily that her father is dying. Chapter 2 gave us the history of the Murray family and gave hints to the possible avenues the plot might meander down. Chapter 3, Emily’s father dies and the Murray clan come to attend the funeral and meet Emily.
Things that struck me: Emily does seem to share a lot of characteristics with other young Montgomery heroes and heroines. I wonder if making friend with your own reflection was as common for real children in the twenties as it is for these fictional children. On another note, even though she surely isn’t the best possible housekeeper, I felt badly for Ellen Greene. Something in me rankles at the idea of teaching your eight year old daughter to think that the housekeeper who is supposed to be watching her is an idiot. All those off hand remarks about Ellen just made me think that Douglas Starr and Emily were mean. I’m sure it was a class thing, and their snobby disdain wouldn’t have seemed inappropriate at the time, however, it does seem like Papa Starr should have just found a better house keeper.
The stand out thing to me about these first few chapters were Emily’s “flashes.” They immediately reminded me of the concept of the Sublime. The best quote I could find characterizing the Sublime comes unfortunately from Wikipedia, not the most scholarly source, but it sums up well what I’m thinking about: “The experience of the sublime involves a self-forgetfulness where personal fear is replaced by a sense of well-being and security when confronted with an object exhibiting superior might, and is similar to the experience of the tragic.” I’m pretty sure that Montgomery was not reading German philosopher Max Dessoir, to whom this quote is attributed, maybe I’m wrong, but I do think this connection between the fear and tragedy and security is very present in the flashes. Emily describes her flashes as seeing behind a curtain to a world of beauty in chapter 1, and then later is comforted by the idea that her father is just going behind a curtain, not through a door. At the end of chapter 2, Emily decides that they are the same curtain, that her father is going into the beauty and he will be waiting there for her with her mother. Clearly, death was a part of life at this time, as evidenced by Ellen Greene’s attitude, but I still think it is a pretty creepy idea. I guess fear of death seems ngrained in our current culture, and it seems odd to think that not that long ago it would have been feasible for a child who had no clear theology to not only not fear death but also to find the world beyond the veil comforting.
I haven’t touched at all on the Murrays, I’ll leave that to you two.
Signing off,
Saucy Sal
I’ll just give a quick overview: Chapter 1, Emily is a carefree child who has lived in a secluded country house with her father and a grumpy old housekeeper. She has created imaginary friends out of the wind, and the trees, and her own reflection. At the end of this chapter, the house keeper Ellen Greene (fat, lazy old thing of no importance) tells Emily that her father is dying. Chapter 2 gave us the history of the Murray family and gave hints to the possible avenues the plot might meander down. Chapter 3, Emily’s father dies and the Murray clan come to attend the funeral and meet Emily.
Things that struck me: Emily does seem to share a lot of characteristics with other young Montgomery heroes and heroines. I wonder if making friend with your own reflection was as common for real children in the twenties as it is for these fictional children. On another note, even though she surely isn’t the best possible housekeeper, I felt badly for Ellen Greene. Something in me rankles at the idea of teaching your eight year old daughter to think that the housekeeper who is supposed to be watching her is an idiot. All those off hand remarks about Ellen just made me think that Douglas Starr and Emily were mean. I’m sure it was a class thing, and their snobby disdain wouldn’t have seemed inappropriate at the time, however, it does seem like Papa Starr should have just found a better house keeper.
The stand out thing to me about these first few chapters were Emily’s “flashes.” They immediately reminded me of the concept of the Sublime. The best quote I could find characterizing the Sublime comes unfortunately from Wikipedia, not the most scholarly source, but it sums up well what I’m thinking about: “The experience of the sublime involves a self-forgetfulness where personal fear is replaced by a sense of well-being and security when confronted with an object exhibiting superior might, and is similar to the experience of the tragic.” I’m pretty sure that Montgomery was not reading German philosopher Max Dessoir, to whom this quote is attributed, maybe I’m wrong, but I do think this connection between the fear and tragedy and security is very present in the flashes. Emily describes her flashes as seeing behind a curtain to a world of beauty in chapter 1, and then later is comforted by the idea that her father is just going behind a curtain, not through a door. At the end of chapter 2, Emily decides that they are the same curtain, that her father is going into the beauty and he will be waiting there for her with her mother. Clearly, death was a part of life at this time, as evidenced by Ellen Greene’s attitude, but I still think it is a pretty creepy idea. I guess fear of death seems ngrained in our current culture, and it seems odd to think that not that long ago it would have been feasible for a child who had no clear theology to not only not fear death but also to find the world beyond the veil comforting.
I haven’t touched at all on the Murrays, I’ll leave that to you two.
Signing off,
Saucy Sal
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