Tag: John Hampden

Doctor Jekyll & Mr Hyde

Early this morning I watched a recording of last night’s rugby World Cup match between South Africa and Tonga.

Later I posted

Moons For Denzil

being a submission for the latest challenge from denzilnature.com

The whole world knows that the phrase Jekyll and Hyde indicates a person with two sides to their personality – one good and one evil. But how many people, even if they know that this originates in Robert Louis Stevenson’s masterpiece of insightful depiction of humanity’s dual nature; still more how many of us know the detail of the mystery, horror, and science fiction encompassed in this short novel?

Mervyn Peake, author and illustrator of his own Gormenghast trilogy, was an inspired choice of illustrator for

of which

these are the boards.

With honest revelations of his own duality Stevenson made use of his personal early life in producing a first version which pleased him, in three days, then falling into a rage when his wife – his best critic – told him it wouldn’t do. The next day he burnt it, acknowledged that she was right, and wrote what we have today in three more days. I am indebted to John Hampden’s knowledgable and literary introduction for this information.

The author’s complex and insightful observation of human nature is used to full effect as he explores his theme.

Having presented the illustrations as double spreads in order to display some of the prose I trust I have not really given too much detail of the story which is the author’s vehicle for his exploration. The results of a disastrous experiment are only revealed after the climax.

Stevenson’s customary use of weather conditions; the play of light and dark; and night and day in order to portray the mood of the story even penetrated my own reading experience. The morning had been dull, dry, warm, and overcast. Suddenly, in mid afternoon, a flash of lightning was seen through our window; we were plunged into darkness, before which we had had no need of our electric lights; a clap of thunder sent the garden birds scattering as if a raptor were in the air; and glistening leaves on the trees threw off bouncing raindrops. This was when I had reached the crescendo of the book.

Later, as in one of the last pages I read a description of bright spring day, I realised we didn’t need our electric lights any more.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s chicken jalfrezi and korma according to our preference; peshwari naan; pilau rice; and vegetable samosas, with which she finished the Zesty and I drank more of the Shiraz.

Stories

I spent this entire afternoon reading and listening to rain pattering on the windows.

Over several years some decades ago I was rash enough to collect Anthony Trollope’s entire oeuvre as presented by the Folio Society. It is the sheer volume of this work that prompts me to consider this enterprise rash. I doubt that I will ever finish reading all the books.

Like any other Victorian novelist in the age before blogging and television soaps, Trollope wrote at considerable length for the avid readers of his serialised instalments.

In order to try to catch up with my reading of this author, picked up again with a volume of stories, of a shorter length than the other books. I finished reading it today. This is

encased in

boards bound by cloth imprinted with this elegant design.

The contents are ‘The Parson’s Daughter of Oxney Colne; La Mere Bauche; Father Giles of Ballymoy; The Spotted Dog; and ‘Alice Dugdale’.

The apparently effortless prose flows along with excellent description, insightful characterisation, and well-placed dialogue. Trollope has a sound understanding of human nature and of his times. Without giving away any detail I can say that he deals will betrothal, match-making, scheming parents, gossip, and social standing. One apparent ghost story is ultimately humorous. Endings are not always happy, and there is one heart-rending tragedy. Most tales are set in England; there is one in France, and one in Ireland.

John Hampden’s well written introduction is informative about the author.

Regular readers will understand that I am enamoured of Joan Hassall’s careful wood engravings. Each story has a title page vignette; an introductory illustration; and, with one exception, a tailpiece.

Here they all are.

For our dinner this evening Jackie produced a fusion of her own savoury rice and succulent ratatouille; Tesco’s aromatic won ton and spring rolls; and Lidl’s lean meaty rack of ribs in barbecue sauce. The Culinary Queen drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc, and I finished the Garnacha.