Robert Louis Stevenson – derrickjknight

Stevenson’s Treasure Island

I spent the day completing my rereading, reviewing and scanning the illustrations of

First published in 1883, this perennial work was issued in this form by Eyre & Spottiswoode in 1949 and repeated by Methuen Children’s Books Ltd in 1976.

It is perhaps every boy’s dream adventure involving a map of hidden treasure, swashbuckling heroes, piratical villains, skullduggery, marooning, betrayal, impossible heroics, murder, battles on land and on sea, a mystery island, and much more, crafted by that master storyteller, Robert Louis Stevenson, with full use of his excellent flowing prose descriptive of trees, shrubs, terrain, sea, and landscape, with his symbolism of night and day, light and dark, and the vagaries of the weather.

His depicting details of struggling with seamanship and wrestling with dense foliage take the reader into that world to share the exertions.

Peake’s numerous drawings convey the drama and the characterisation of the author.

Robert Newton, in Disney’s first full length feature of the eponymous 1950 film, portrayed Long John Silver as the quintessential pirate, even to the extent of all future pirates following his diction.

This evening we all dined on meaty sausages and fried onions, creamy mash, carrots, spinach and tasty gravy, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Garnacha Old Vines.

Treasure Island Taster

This morning I watched recordings of last night’s rugby World Cup matches between Tonga and Romania and between Fiji and Portugal – the latter being the very last of the pool stage fixtures, and the most thrilling.

Having remembered that my copy of R.L.Stevenson’s “Treasure Island” was illustrated by Mervin Peake it seemed a good idea to reread this for my next Books post. I therefore read half of it today, and if I can complete it tomorrow will review this powerfully illustrated version.

In the meantime I offer a scan of the book jacket which has to be presented in two sections since it is too large a format for my scanner.

This evening we all dined on rolled breast of lamb; boiled new potatoes; carrots, cauliflower, broccoli stems, and meaty gravy with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Garnacha Old Vines.

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.

The Body-Snatcher

This morning I watched last night’s recorded rugby World Cup match between Japan and Samoa.

“William Burke and William Hare, (respectively, born 1792, Orrery, Ireland—died January 28, 1829, Edinburgh, Scotland; flourished 1820s, Londonderry, Ireland), pair of infamous murderers for profit who killed their victims and sold the corpses to an anatomist for purposes of scientific dissection.

Hare immigrated to Scotland from Ireland and wandered through several occupations before becoming keeper of a lodging house in Edinburgh, where Burke, also Irish-born, arrived in 1827. On November 29 an old pensioner died in the house, and Hare, angry that the deceased still owed 4 pounds in rent, devised a plan to steal the corpse from its coffin and sell it to recover the money he was owed. With Burke’s aid, the pair sold the corpse to Robert Knox, a surgeon, for 7 pounds 10 shillings. The profit led the two men, assisted by their common-law wives, during the following months to entice at least 15 unknown wayfarers into the lodging house, where they got them intoxicated and then smothered them (in order to leave no trace of violence). Afterward, they sold the corpses to Knox’s school of anatomy. Burke and Hare were exposed when neighbours and police discovered their murder of a local woman on October 31, 1828.

Hare turned king’s evidence and, along with his wife, Margaret, testified against Burke and his wife, Helen. Hare eventually was released, never to be heard from again. Burke was tried for murder, found guilty, and hanged. In his confession, Burke exonerated Knox of all knowledge of the crimes, but some years passed before Knox lived down the condemnations of the public and the press. Helen was released after the jury found that the charges against her were “not proven.” She later moved but was haunted by vigilantes seeking her death.” (https://www.britannica.com/biography/William-Burke-and-William-Hare)

Burke and Hare were undoubtedly the models for those who supplied Stevenson’s Mr K with subjects for dissection in the title and final story of the Folio Society’s collection which I read this afternoon.

Our author put his own stamp on the story. Using lanterns and candle light illuminating snatches of a pitch black shape-changing figures and soaking precipitation to set the scene in his customary way. The alcoholic wreck of an accomplice of an extremely successful surgeon who as students had dealt in the trade of victims many years before, upon meeting him by surprise, is the vehicle by which Stevenson tells the tale of their crimes, giving us his own spine-chilling conclusion.

Michael Foreman’s frontispiece to the book illustrates this tale.

This evening we all dined on tender roast pork; roast potatoes sweet and standard; firm broccoli and carrots; piquant cauliflower cheese; meaty gravy; apple and other sauces according to taste, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Grenacha Old Vines.

The Story Of A Lie

This morning I watched the recording of last night’s rugby World Cup match between Uruguay and Namibia.

On an overcast day of showers and humidity I read Robert Louis Stevenson’s tale of this post’s title.

The story demonstrates how ultimately cruel it can be to be misguidedly kind. We have two filial relationships – one, where the father has been present throughout a loved life; the other that of a prodigal parasite who turns up to sponge after a lifetime’s absence. One sire is confronted by truth; the other offspring protected from it. Truth condemns the relationship for a decade; the avoidance of it destroys an adult love.

Stevenson’s insight into humanity runs throughout the tale, as does his descriptive power brought into play with simple sentences telling of place and environment. In particular he really taps into the phenomenon of characters in deep despair being oblivious of normal life around them.

Michael Foreman’s illustration to my Folio Society edition depicts a pivotal meeting.

This evening we all dined on cheese centred haddock fishcakes; piquant cauliflower cheese; with cauliflower leaves; boiled new potatoes; fried tomatoes; a crunchy carrots, with which Jackie drank more of the Zesty and I drank Hacienda Uvanis Garnacha Old Vines 2020.

The Beach Of Falesá

This morning Jackie and I transported ten used compost bags of green refuse to Efford Recycling Centre.

After lunch I read The Beach of Falesá, being the next tale in my Folio Society collection of Robert Louis Stevenson’s stories.

Five chapters progressing from largely well crafted dialogue with excellent descriptions of place and scenario, increasing apace to a thrilling crescendo of action provide romance, mystery, superstition, deception, blending of cultures, and sexual exploitation, from the pen of a master of narrative and suspense. There is a touch of the racial attitudes of the times, yet expressed with sensitivity.

Light, shade, and weather play their part in setting the scenes whilst engaging sight and sound, brilliantly portrayed by the use of a moving lantern’s effect on scale in a pitch dark eerie wood crackling underfoot at nighttime.

Here is Michael Foreman’s dramatic illustration.

Our young family arrived home in time for dinner, which included roast chicken thighs; creamy mashed potatoes; crunchy carrots, firm cauliflower, tender green beans and meaty gravy, with which I was the only imbiber – of more of the Montepulciano.

Markheim

Although the temperature was warm outside this morning and the winds as strong as they had been throughout the night, there was no rain until it bucketed down from about 11 a.m. onwards. I therefore accompanied Jackie as she delivered the elderly Modus to the dealer and collected her sprightly four year old Hyundai i10.

In the meantime Ronan and a colleague from Tom Sutton Heating fixed an oil leak by fitting a faulty valve, and I remained inside for the rest of the day while heavy rain continued into the night.

I submitted

Spiders, Prey, Webs

to Denzil Nature for this week’s challenge. All but the first picture are from my archives.

Reminiscent of Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment” is “Markheim”, the next of the Robert Louis Stevenson’s stories in my Folio Society collection, which I read this afternoon.

As Michael Foreman’s illustration shows, we learn pretty quickly that Markheim is a murderer, trapped by his fears into remaining in the victim’s shop wrestling with the consequences of his guilt and the temptations of the personification of his conscience.

The building itself, empty but for the corpse, brings dread as the perpetrator, anticipating there may be someone else within, searches for further riches which he knows he would squander.

Haunted by his imagination and his need for redemption, Markheim struggles over how to respond as the moment of discovery draws nearer. I will leave the author to reveal this.

Later, I watched the second half of the rugby World Cup match between Italy and Uruguay.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken and vegetable soup and fresh crusty bread, with which I drank more of the Côtes du Rhône Villages and no-one else did.

The Treasure Of Franchard

Knowing we were to expect gale force winds today, Jackie laid down garden chairs and Flo furled the parasols yesterday, but, because they have such heavy bases did not lay them down.

The gusts did it for us. 75 mph winds came through The Needles, just about 5 miles from us as the crow flies. They will continue throughout the night and most of tomorrow.

It is a measure of some improvement in my cold that I did venture out, if only briefly, onto the patio for these photographs, but no further.

On another afternoon of reading I enjoyed “The Treasure of Franchard”, a moral tale of the potential problems of riches. This short narrative of 8 chapters in my Folio Society collection of Robert Louis Stevenson’s stories contains delightfully descriptive bucolic prose, and penetrative insights into humanity.

Through the developing relationship of a loquacious doctor and a taciturn, yet questioning, boy the work is more obviously philosophical than some of the other stories. Ultimately it is the boy who emerges as the tutor.

Michael Foreman’s illustration features the pivotal finding of the treasure which is the vehicle for the lessons for the various protagonists.

This evening we all dined on Subway sandwiches produced by Flo and Dillon with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Séguret Côtes du Rhône Villages 2021

The Rajah’s Diamond

With my cold reaching its peak and today’s weather pattern repeating that of yesterday I spent the day seated indoors.

First I watched a recording of last night’s rugby World Cup match between England and Japan, then read “The Rajah’s Diamond” story from the Folio selection of Robert Louis Stevenson’s tales.

In a four part story, with humour and mystery the author traces the passage of an item of great wealth and its effect on the lives of a number of people with whom it comes into contact. We see that it is an object that tempts into crime and deception bringing no happiness.

Once again Michael Foreman’s illustrations capture the essence of Stevenson’s characters and events created in the author’s usual flowing prose.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s cottage pie and beef pie with boiled new potatoes; firm broccoli and cauliflower, crunchy carrots, and meaty gravy with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the GSM.

The Suicide Club

Early this morning I watched a recording of last night’s rugby World Cup match between France and Uruguay, which was more of a contest than had been predicted.

Later Jackie drove me to and collected me afterwards from my friend Giles’s house so we could enjoy a conversation.

In the meantime, realising that our Modus is becoming too frail to carry us around any more, Mrs Knight visited the Hyundai garage at Everton where she chose a replacement younger model which we secured with a deposit this afternoon.

Afterwards I photographed a spider that I am holding back for Denzil’s upcoming Nature Challenge.

I then finished reading “The Suicide Club” by Robert Louis Stevenson, being the third in The Folio Society’s collection.

This is really the tale of a deviously scheming serial killer who inveigles victims into sham situations encouraging them to dice with death. We have intriguing mystery; fearful dread; fanciful locations, and gullible prey in what is a three part detective story. Stevenson uses light and shade to evoke the atmosphere of the developing murder mystery. He describes the settings in detail, using fairly lengthy yet flowing prose, with a keen ear for conversation and other sounds.

As usual, Michael Foreman’s watercolour illustrations picture the author’s work admirably.

I hope the prose samples alongside these examples do not give too much away.

This evening we all dined on more of Jackie’s chicken Jalfrezi meal with the addition of tandoori paneer; with which we each finished our respective beverages.