the book collector
As a matter of fact, we at the book collector have our own Brontë story, ‘Stoning Charlotte Brontë’ by Ann Baer (Summer 2014 issue). I would like to say Lord of the Flies was based on the incident Ms Baer describes but it might be untrue. The Cheltenham Literature Festival this year also had a sensational angle. Heathcliff vs Darcy: Who’s The Bigger Sh*t? was the subject of a Forum discussion under the leadership of the novelist Sebastian Faulks. ‘Is Heathcli V a tragic victim of overwhelming passion or a vicious sociopath? Is Darcy a cold, controlling snob or an honourable, intelligent hero…’ throbs the blurb. Without question it will have drawn a full house. Furthermore (cue finger-wagging), what about Becky, waiting cutely in that little chintzy upstairs sitting room with the curtains drawn and but two candles lit? Yes indeed, Becky Sharp, looking after herself as usual, has just made her latest TV debut, on this occasion assisted by Amazon. The inescapable fact is that ever since Colin Firth emerged moistened from a lake (shades of Ursula Andress?) in a 1995 TV version of Pride and Prejudice , the great heroes and heroines of English nineteenth century fiction have been taken prisoner by every sort of enterprise and are now kept in a communal donjon from which they are allowed out for a spin about every five years. And who’s to say this is wrong? It stim- ulates interest and thus demand, which is all to the good. What with the shenanigans in British politics, it may not be long before Taper and the loathsome Tadpole are taken into custody by the moguls. But girls will have to be found. Despite Sybil , Disraeli’s novels are not famous for their petticoat roles. irish reading societies is the short title of a book James Raven reviews for us on p. 880. Among these societies was the Rathfriland Society, Co. Down and among its members was a Mr Porter, who wrote as ‘Tisander’. One day in 1811 he discovered that the Society had acquired a copy of Scott’s newly-published Lady of the Lake . He wrote thus,
‘A Highland lassie, buskit braw, Wha’s face, I’m sure, I never saw, Tho’ very fair her fame is; O, how I languish for her sake! The lovely Lady of the Lake For that I think her name is.’
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