Somehow I wasn't even aware of the existence of I Capture the Castle until Laura's review earlier this year... although now I reread that, she didn't know about it until she was 20 either. Huh. Anyway, apparently it's one of those staple classics that every woman should read (aside from the fact that neither Laura nor I 'stapled' it until we were 25)... but I'll be honest. I don't get it.
Plot summary: Cassandra Mortmain lives with her bohemian and impoverished family in a crumbling castle in the middle of nowhere. She records her life with her beautiful, bored sister, Rose, her fadingly glamorous stepmother, Topaz, her little brother, Thomas, and her eccentric novelist father who suffers from a financially crippling writer's block. However, all their lives are turned upside down when the American heirs to the castle arrive and Cassandra finds herself falling in love for the first time.
I know, I'm sorry. I really wanted to like this one, especially as I know it's so universally loved and I occasionally do like books, you know. It just read to me like an older, longer and more tedious version of Little Women.
This book had its good points. It absolutely did. My review notebook doesn't quite enlighten me as to what they were and I'm a month behind with reviews, so I can't remember myself... but I'm sure it did. Probably. My lasting memory of I Capture the Castle is of beautiful prose but not a whole lot of actual content.
It's a very character-driven novel, which is I usually quite like. Unfortunately the characters are alternately flat and lifeless, or so annoying I want to shake them. Combining the two is quite a feat. It's told using a first person narrative as we're theoretically reading Cassandra's diary... so how is it possible that I feel I don't know her at all? I may as well have been reading the minutes of my dentist appointment it's so abnormally clinical.
My problem, character-wise, is that we're told to like somebody and then suddenly told not to like them, but by other characters. We're never shown their true personalities so we can make up our own minds, thus it feels a little bit convoluted at times. Cassandra changes her mind about people so often that the other personalities never get chance to stabilise.
However, the prose is beautiful and there are some lovely passages. There's one where Cassandra talks about how she imagines scenarios in her head but then grows to rely on them to get her through the day, which is something I think a lot of teenagers do. I don't find her to be at all relatable on the whole, but this particular quote kind of resonated with me:
Rose came in while Simon was kissing me and was absolutely livid - or was that a later imagining? There have been so many that they have gradually merged into each other. I don't think I could bring myself to describe any of them in detail because, though they are wonderful at the time, they give me a flat, sick, ashamed feeling to look back on. And they are like a drug, one needs them oftener and oftener and has to make them more and more exciting - until at last one's imagination won't work at all.
Most of it, however, was simultaneously boring and melodramatic. I found the first half to be much more interesting than the second half, because it does start to drag towards the end. I felt that the entire point of the novel was lost as it tried to follow too many different paths at the same time. The actual ending made me want to push Cassandra off an extra large cliff as I really can't stand self-imposed martyrdom.
I kind of feel like I should apologise for not liking this book and I'm not really sure why. I know it's loved by an awful lot of people but it's just not for me. The flat and irritating characters plus a rambling plot just didn't add up to something I could 'click' with. I think I'll stick to Little Women.
I first read Frankenstein pre-2006. I know this because I started recording my books in that year and it's not on my list, so that means that I read this at least nine years ago. Which is, quite frankly, a little depressing and a fact I hadn't clicked onto until just now so excuse me while I go throw up in a corner.
Anyway, the point is that I remembered very little about this book. I know I didn't like it much and I do know I moaned a lot because I thought it comprised of nothing but essays and lectures on morality.
I'm not sure what made me pick it up now, other than I'd finished my current book and it was right there on the Kindle (but then again, so were 70+ other books). Anyway, I'm glad to report that while I don't love Frankenstein, my opinion of it has much improved since 2005 (or whenever).
Plot summary: Obsessed with discovering the cause of generation and life and bestowing animation upon lifeless matter, Frankenstein assembles a human being from stolen body parts but; upon bringing it to life, he recoils in horror at the creature's hideousness. Tormented by isolation and loneliness, the once-innocent creature turns to evil and unleashes a campaign of murderous revenge against his creator, Frankenstein.
Slightly spoilery, but only slightly.
When I first started the book, I actually thought that maybe the wrong book had been delivered to my Kindle by mistake. The story opened in the Arctic, on a ship surrounded by ice, and that couldn't possibly be correct. Shows how much I remembered, right?
I think I must be more accustomed to classics than when I was fifteen or so, because I didn't really notice any long-winded moral essays. That said, it isn't overly accessible and it does get a little dull at times. There's a lot of walking and waiting. I can deal with that though. What I can't deal with, however, is Victor Frankenstein. I'm trying to decide who's worse - him or Tess Durbeyfield. They're both so self-pitying and melodramatic. Although perhaps I'd be melodramatic too if a creature mushed together of dead bodies started chasing me round the country... Tess still has no excuse.
Anyway, I really dislike Victor. Everything is his own doing but he just refuses to see it. The Monster goes "Hey dude, you were pretty shit. Still, if you're nice to me now, I'll just amble off and leave you in peace," but Victor is too busy being shrill and denoucing the creature as evil. You know, that creature he created. He doesn't take any responsibility for his actions - he runs away screaming the second the monster comes to life and just leaves him to fend for himself.
I perceived, as the shape came nearer (sight tremendous and abhorred!) that it was the wretch whom I had created. I trembled with rage and horror, resolving to wait his approach and then close with him in mortal combat. He approached; his countenance bespoke bitter anguish, combined with disdain and malignity, while its unearthly ugliness rendered it almost too horrible for human eyes. But I scarely observed this; rage and hatred had at first deprived me of utterance, and I recovered only to overwhelm him with words expressive of furious detestation and contempt.
"Devil," I exclaimed, "do you dare approach me? And do not you fear the fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head? Begone, vile insect! Or rather, stay, that I may tample you to dust!"
This is never really addressed throughout the book, which irritated me. You could say that Victor gets his comeuppance, but he sees this as penance for creating the monster, not for abandoning him or being cruel. That is what the creature's behaviour stems from, after all.
It's amazing how little gore there is in this book. I know it was published in 1818 and so had to be more tasteful than today's horror novels, but this is a book about sewing together a creature from the parts of dead men! It's very vague, in a clever way, such as 'I collected the materials for the process,' meaning 'I dug up dead people.' No body parts or surgery is mentioned at any point. I don't know why, it just bemused me a little.
It barely even mentions what the monster looks like. There's no green skin, no bolts through his neck, no moaning noise... He actually has super human speed, so I doubt he walks at a crawl with his arms outstretched. It just shows how much movies are responsible for the image we have of Frankenstein's monster.
Speaking of (and I know if you're reading a review of Frankenstein on a book blog, you probably don't need to be told this)... Frankenstein is the man, the doctor that created the monster that doesn't have a name. The green creature with bolts is not Frankenstein. But we knew that :)
I read in the introduction that Frankenstein came about because Mary Shelley suffered a series of still-births and obsessed over the idea of creating life in a non-natal situation. I don't know how true that is but I would certainly have read the book with a different tone if I had known beforehand.
It's a little creepy at times I suppose, but only slightly. I did feel for Victor Frankenstein by the end - we all do silly things when we're young. I admit mine tended to involve sambuca shots and funny hats, not the creation of 8 ft horror icons, but there you go.
While I did get into the book, it did feel very slow going and I never really wanted to pick it up once I'd put it down for a while. I'm glad I reread it so I have a clearer idea of what it's actually about, but I can't say it's one of my favourites.
Read Laura or Ellie's reviews of Frankenstein. They're more eloquent and less negative!
