Classics Considered

Most of the time I cannot write a short post. Mine are longwinded things, and often takes a couple days to complete one. But I would like to blog more, so maybe a quick update now and then—for example, over this cup of coffee I’m enjoying before work—is the way forward.

A long commute twice a week has given me ample time for reading on the train. I am a couple hundred pages into Charlotte Brontë’s Villette, commencing my reread of the Brontë sisters. (I don’t think it will be a complete reread of their works, but I aim to get to Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights this year.) Villette is a sombre, intricate novel, with moments of beauty and foreshadowing I did not notice the first time around.

The other thing I’m reading is The Painted Veil by W Somerset Maugham. This is part of a book club, and it’s nice to hear others’ comments as we go. This time around, I’m noticing how Maugham describes both the individual and the societal factors which influence Kitty’s behavior (similarly to how Anne Brontë analysed Mr Huntingdon in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall). I think it will still be one of my all-time favourite books by the time I’ve finished it. 🙂

I’m still making my way slowly through Rilke’s poetry, and I am also rereading Isaiah.

I started reading Isaiah when I was still reading Kings (or was it Chronicles?). I struggle with the Old Testament (stylistically and theologically); it is taking me ages to reread it. But I’ve managed to keep up a daily reading habit since the beginning of this year—something which previously felt impossible—and Isaiah has been a welcome interlude to the histories. It is a book which seems to brim with God’s anger, love, and jealousy over Israel and the world. I have been amazed at just how emotional it is. However you might interpret God’s emotions (or lack thereof—is it all just anthropomorphizing?), Isaiah is a stirring read. I know the Song of Songs is supposed to be the romantic book of the Old Testament, but there is something in the majesty and (asexual) yearning of Isaiah’s poetry, interspersed with visions of the Messiah, that moves me deeply. “His visage was marred more than any man” (52:14) will surely haunt me forever.

I have finished my coffee and must get ready for work. It is only February, but the birds and flowers are out in full force, and I have recently seen my first red fox (!!). This year has been a strange one already, and I am glad of some old books, like old friends, to help me stay sane.