The Beetle, and Other Subjects No One Except Me Is Interested In
My British Lit professor is rapidly becoming a favorite. His sense of humor, which he terms "loopy," is just off enough that for several weeks I have been laughing quietly to myself while the rest of the class sat there confused and uncomfortable. They seem to be catching on though.
The novel we are currently reading is a little obscure, but is apparently rising in the esteem of those who make British lit their field of study. To give you some idea of how little known this book is, I checked every bookstore and library in Rochester, and none of them had it, except to order. Even Jack Porcello had never heard of it, and I thought Jack knew everything.
It's called The Beetle, and it's rising in my estimation with every page. The story is about an Egyptian scarab beetle that stalks a politician around London. (Understand, this would not be nearly as funny if it wasn't about a politician.) It's told from the point of view of four different people, all in first person. I just finished the second, Sydney Atherton, who is the rival of the protagonist for Marjorie's (another narrator) affection. Atherton is a sort of mad scientist, whom the beetle apparently has no power over. The question my teacher poses is this: is he able to withstand the hypnosis and bizarre powers because he stands for science and reason, or because he is crazy and drunk?
This will definitely be making my 2009 booklist, possibly with a more elaborate review.
Ariane
P.S. The spelling of "defence" below is not an error on my part, but how the word is spelled in the book itself. Whether this is due to the difference between British and American English, or to the fact that Britain still didn't have standard grammatical rules yet, or because the publisher was a dunce, I don't know.
"What is it, now?"
"Death."
"No? - really? - what to you mean?"
"If you are a member of the government, you will possibly learn; I may offer them the refusal of a new wrinkle in the art of murder."
"I see- a new projectile. How long is this race to continue between attack and defence?"
"Until the sun grows cold."
"And then?"
"There'll be no defence, - nothing to defend."
-- Richard Marsh, from The Beetle
The novel we are currently reading is a little obscure, but is apparently rising in the esteem of those who make British lit their field of study. To give you some idea of how little known this book is, I checked every bookstore and library in Rochester, and none of them had it, except to order. Even Jack Porcello had never heard of it, and I thought Jack knew everything.
It's called The Beetle, and it's rising in my estimation with every page. The story is about an Egyptian scarab beetle that stalks a politician around London. (Understand, this would not be nearly as funny if it wasn't about a politician.) It's told from the point of view of four different people, all in first person. I just finished the second, Sydney Atherton, who is the rival of the protagonist for Marjorie's (another narrator) affection. Atherton is a sort of mad scientist, whom the beetle apparently has no power over. The question my teacher poses is this: is he able to withstand the hypnosis and bizarre powers because he stands for science and reason, or because he is crazy and drunk?
This will definitely be making my 2009 booklist, possibly with a more elaborate review.
Ariane
P.S. The spelling of "defence" below is not an error on my part, but how the word is spelled in the book itself. Whether this is due to the difference between British and American English, or to the fact that Britain still didn't have standard grammatical rules yet, or because the publisher was a dunce, I don't know.
"What is it, now?"
"Death."
"No? - really? - what to you mean?"
"If you are a member of the government, you will possibly learn; I may offer them the refusal of a new wrinkle in the art of murder."
"I see- a new projectile. How long is this race to continue between attack and defence?"
"Until the sun grows cold."
"And then?"
"There'll be no defence, - nothing to defend."
-- Richard Marsh, from The Beetle