Write what you know, having made people tell you about themselves.

Publisher: Pushkin Press
Pages: 335
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-782-227043-0
First Published: 2006
Date Reviewed: 16th October 2014
Rating: 4.5/5

Original language: Finnish
Original title: Lumikko ja yhdeksän muuta (Lumikko and Nine Others)
Translated by: Lola Rogers

Ella Amanda Milana, owner of lovely curved lips and defective ovaries, is a substitute literature and language teacher in Rabbit Back. Whilst the town boasts many writers, only nine have ever made it to Laura White’s Literature Society – but now Ella has been invited to join as the tenth member. Little is known of White, but everyone reads her children’s books. Little is known of the society but the writers are now famous. Nothing is known about the strange goings on in the library wherein the content of books is being changed.

The Rabbit Back Literature Society is a novel in a similar vein, atmospherically, to The Night Circus and The Snow Child and given its complexity, bizarreness, and otherworldliness, comparisons work best when trying to describe it. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly why it works, much as it’s difficult to say anything definite about Laura White, but it just does. It’s all rather brilliant. The writing isn’t so brilliant, but as it is a translation one can’t really consider the writing the way they would normally.

There are many elements in this book, many themes, and most answers you have to decide upon for yourself, making the story ripe for discussion. It’s dark, the sort of dark that deliberately tries to hide itself and is all the more dark for it.

It’s probably best to start with what is apparent from the start – this is a book about books, about writing. It is a book for readers in that specific sense, in fact it could be said that the entire book is a plan for a book, for many books. You could in theory, ironically, take ideas from this book for your own, and I would say that this is one of the points. Jääskeläinen looks at the different concepts, the writing process, with a certain honesty than is nevertheless soaked in the strange fantasy world he has constructed. It is thus somewhat satirical.

The author turns the notion of writing what you know on its head. The writers of the Society, these geniuses identified as children, get all their ideas from the other members. A crucial part of the novel is The Game, a somewhat sadistic ritual in which each member may ‘challenge’ another, instructing them to answer a question about themselves or something they likely know about with complete honesty. To spill, as they put it, for fodder for the other’s next book.

So here we are with these ‘geniuses’ who seem to lack inspiration, ideas, and possibly the talent to even form the words. The questions ‘what is talent? What is special?’ are asked on a constant basis. Similar are questions of plagiarism and the extent to which a person should be allowed to write about what they hear. Jääskeläinen cleverly looks at his discussions from various angles, rather as his characters literally look at angles, pulling you along and back and then leaving you to laugh, or to be shocked at where he ends up. What does all of it mean? Are the authors really lacking in their own ideas? Where do ideas come from? And is there a point at which placing people on pedestals, seeing them as untouchable by our inferior selves becomes ridiculous?

And what of children, these young people who White writes for, whom the characters in turn give birth to for the sake of their partners, have but do not love, are incapable of having? Children in general form a large part of the book as Jääskeläinen studies the idea of children from an adult’s viewpoint, a particular viewpoint that conflicts with the wholesome way we are supposed to look at it. It makes you feel sympathetic, it makes you cringe and feel bad for the fictional children, and it makes you think. Detached from the usual emotions that surround the idea of having children, this book really makes you think and it’s really quite uncomfortable.

The theme of the infested, plague-ridden books continues throughout. You are completely on your own for this one, for it is never formally answered. It just continues, words keep being jumbled, stories are changed, and therefore books are burned. A version of a book should never buck the trend of the previous, it should always be the same.

Can you like anyone in Rabbit Back? Similarly to the characters themselves you may find someone you like for a short while before you inevitably end up sitting at a different table. But this book is not about liking people or getting on, and it’s safe to say that Jääskeläinen is using them as much as anyone else. In the hierarchy the author is surely top dog and that is a big part of what makes the book a crack in the fourth wall.

Is it all a metaphor for ideas and writing, a metaphor for story creation and difference? What’s real? See for yourself.

You won’t get any answers, perhaps there aren’t any. But you will have a fantastic few hours studying this book.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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The continuation of 1800s novels.

Publisher: N/A (but I’d wager Vintage’s a good one)
Pages: N/A
Type: Fiction
Age: Young Adult
ISBN: N/A (Vintage’s is 978-0-099-46087-9)
First Published: 1949
Date Reviewed: 16th August 2012
Rating: 5/5

Cassandra lives with her family in a house adjoining a ruinous castle. From having a fair amount of money they have become poor, and it doesn’t look like Mr Mortmain will start writing again anytime soon – despite his wife spending time outside in the nude in order to commune with nature. But then the Cottons arrive, American brothers who have just inherited the estate the castle stands on. And far from being angry about the unpaid rent they’re positively entranced by what they’ve found.

I Capture The Castle is a rather quirky novel about relationships and the power of money. It presents itself initially as relaxing and intriguing, but as soon as it gets a hold of you it branches off, showing deeper colours, just like the women’s dresses after they decide to dye them into new life. What’s particularly appealing about the book is that it is heavily influenced by Victorian literature, both obviously and subtly. There are worded references to Jane Austen and the Brontës, but further than that the book’s story itself feels like it could have been written by, say Austen. Indeed it can be so easy at times to snuggle down, knowing that you’re reading the work of an admirer, that when Smith diverts from the era of chasteness it’s rather a shock. It would not be wrong to say that I Capture The Castle is Austen without the limitation of Victorian etiquette.

I am not so sure I should like the facts of life, but I have got over the bitter disappointment I felt when I first heard about them, and one obviously has to try them sooner or later.

And the book truly strikes a chord. Told from Cassandra’s point of view, via her diary, often she will say something that is so compelling and always considered by ourselves, but rarely shared, such as her ruminations over the idea of her sister wanting a wedding rather than a marriage.

“As we’ll never be able to stop her turning on the Early Victorian charm, we ought to accentuate it.”

Referring back to the Victorian influence, it is apt to discuss the characters. Rose, for example, is paramount in Smith’s dedication of her work to Victorian literature; the character has gathered her knowledge of how to conduct a courtship via the processes in place a century before her own, and the reactions her “victim” experiences due to her theatrics are duly recorded by Cassandra. Rose feels it is time she had money after having lived in near poverty for so long, and if the opportunity arises she will take it. Cassandra is less passionate than Rose, and tends to keep her feelings to her journals, but her potential to love is huge. The Father, Mortmain is rather random in his actions and one never knows if he is working or not, and Topaz, his wife, is completely bohemian. The family is completed by a brother, Thomas, and Stephen, an unpaid servant who is devoted to Cassandra. The Cotton family are colourful too, if less so. The collection of such a set of characters means that whenever the narrative slows down – which it does a lot because the plot as a whole is slow and rather simple – it’s not long before you’re laughing, and as such it’s difficult to want to put it down.

Of course a big draw for the reader, considering that the novel has a simple, fairly predictable plot, is surely the factor of the house/castle in addition to the cast of characters. Though difficult to imagine at times, it is an interesting and individual setting that permits the exploration of history without the burden of superfluous or detailed information.

The romance may be a love square, or perhaps even a love hexagonal – Smith, although agreeing to honour the well-established trope, takes a while to release her hold on the information, so that whilst certain parts are predictable, she might attempt to lead you down the garden path, protesting against readers who have worked it out already.

I asked him if he liked Rose’s dress – mostly to change the conversation.
He said: “Not very much, if you want the honest truth – it’s too fussy for me. But she looks very pretty in it. Knows it too, doesn’t she?”
There was a twinkle in his eye which took off the rudeness. And I must admit that Rose was knowing it all over the place.

I Capture The Castle attempts and succeeds in being the very sort of book a lover of both classics and contemporary work wishes to read – it combines all the trappings of the 1800s novel with the boldness of the early 20th Century, and such boldness enables there to be a further blend of the 1930s and our current 21st Century present. Indeed so wrapped up in the past can Smith become, that mentions of technology, for example a gramophone, may cause you to pause for a moment so that you can adjust your visions of women in Victorian dresses to women of later fashions.

And in addition to all of the above, I Capture The Castle is surely a novel of the arts. Cassandra likes writing, the text is structured as her diary, and the family is forever trying to get Mr Mortmain to author another book. Topaz is an artist and model, and the Cottons are bathed in the world of literature.

“Look, Mortmain, look! Oh, don’t you long to be an old, old man in a lamp-lit inn?”
“Yes, particularly one with rheumatism,” said Father. “My dear, you’re an ass.”

Smith’s work is an absolute triumph.

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In which Austen plays narrator to devastatingly good effect.

Publisher: (Numerous, but I’d wager Vintage would be a good one)
Pages: N/A
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: N/A
First Published: 1818
Date Reviewed: 27th March 2011
Rating: 5/5

Catherine Morland loves Gothic books, in fact she loves them so much that they can overtake reality. That she’s not well-versed in anything else is of no importance to her. As luck would have it, it may not be important to the hero either, at least in his choice of partner. But before she can meet this handsome fellow she must first travel to Bath, because that’s where he is, and must, before they can become well-known to each other, embark on a few irritating friendships.

If my summary sounds strange, it is because I have endeavoured to provide a hint of the style of the book. Austen has no qualms about letting the reader know that this is just a story, and in fact she makes it so that the story is one of the easiest narratives written. She purposefully creates a heroine who is to have little trouble in meeting the hero (she reminds you often that they are the heroine and hero) and points out where she could have made the book stereotypical and chose not to. In essence, the book is far less eventful than many but still very good – but you have to know the style of writing to understand why the contents stop it from being boring.

The book centres on the relationships between three major factions, Catherine and her brother James, John and Isabella Thorpe, and Henry and Eleanor Tilney. All three factions impact each other in various ways, both directly and through the “use” of one another. As you might expect with an Austen novel, love plays its part, as does money, and overall personal situations.

On the whole, Catherine isn’t a particularly interesting character, but Austen focuses on her quirks in order to make the story the success it is. Catherine is a sensationalist and some of the humour in the book inevitably arises from her love of Gothic novels and the value she places on the information in the real world. It’s like the thought that often crosses the mind of an admirer of The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe to investigate any old-fashioned wardrobes they come across; but unlike these more modern thoughts that are meant only in jest by all but children, Catherine’s thoughts that stem from her novels become a reality to her, and the chastising she gives herself for it being a fantasy is only half-hearted. That her imagination is taken advantage of several times by Tilney is to create not only humour but also a situation in which Catherine can develop as a character, as well as to make Tilney himself not only a brilliant hero but to demonstrate Austen’s own superb mind.

If Henry had been with them indeed! – but now she should not know what was picturesque when she saw it.

Catherine’s development in regards to general knowledge, which includes general social knowledge, may not be particularly detailed, but it is fun to read about and good to be able to imagine where she might be in a few years time.

The other characters are almost equally compelling. Although not as passionate and impulsive as Catherine (in Northanger Abbey I found the spin-off, of sorts, that I would have loved to see of Charlotte Brontë’s Villette, focusing on Ginerva Fanshawe) they each possess distinctly interesting qualities. Henry Tilney is sarcastic, intelligent, and, I would say, the way in which Austen divulges her thoughts to the characters; his sister is an obedient woman but unconvinced by general society. Their father is a matriarch and the Thorpe siblings hard to bear, an assuming, self-righteous, deceiving duo.

“Would he thank you, either on his own account or Miss. Thorpe’s, for supposing that her affection, or at least her good-behaviour, is only to be secured by her seeing nothing of Captain Tilney? …Is her heart constant to him [Morland] only when unsolicited by anyone else?”

Something that marvels me about this book is Austen’s detailed knowledge about relationships. I know that so many things about love and relationships only occurred to me after I had experienced them, together with the information from music, books, and movies, and here we have Austen, a woman in the Victorian era, when woman were suppressed, a woman who experienced love but not for a great length of time, discuss subjects so much better than many writers even today.

As to the theme of parental interference, Austen ends the novel leaving the reader to decide whether her work is in support of “parental tyranny” or “filial disobedience”. It’s a fitting way to end the book. That she had pointed out to the reader, several paragraphs before, that she knew that they knew how it would finish, just adds to the superior quality.

The best aspect of this book is the writing. The story is enjoyable but if it had been told in a more regular manner it would be nothing special, and that is it’s selling point.

Northanger Abbey is one of a kind, especially where Austen’s own work is concerned. If you are an admirer of her books but have not yet read it, I urge you to do so in haste.

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