Saz Teli Uzun Sap Beyaz Bam 0,20- Y020B 3 Tk itibaren İmece içinde LIT biçim

Milène Diguet monateliercolore — A surprise freebie present from Granta....

Jen Kolakowski _enn_ola — (This is usually the part where I offer abject apologies for my review's length, but I don't feel like it this time. It's long. Continued on the comments section. You have been duly notified.) Ah, Fanny Price. We meet again. Our previous meeting was…. How shall I say? Underwhelming. Unsatisfying. …Lacking is really the word I’m looking for. There was something missing in every encounter I had with you that made me want to tear my hair out. Now I know why, and it was entirely to do with what I brought to the table for our meeting. I brought your sisters-in-theory, the heroines Elinor, Emma, Marianne, and Elizabeth, like a pack of stylish queen bees in my head, dazzled by their brilliance and faced you with them at my back like a jury at an oral exam, a row of judges at an audition ready to cut you off after only six bars. And your six bars, I will be real with you, started to seem to be a particularly wail-based version of On My Own that I thought I had heard enough times already to know what your deal was. I was in no position to see you at all at that time. In those ladies listed above, Austen provided me with a repeated melody and a theme that I admired and respected. You didn’t fit into that pattern, didn’t check the boxes I imagined were necessary. I was baffled, frankly, with what the Austen I had created in my head wanted with you. More importantly, really, I made the mistake of thinking that, like those ladies, you were the point of the novel. On the one hand, I wasn’t wrong. You were. But not as an examination of an individual, independent person. This novel is not called Fanny. It isn’t called Foolishness and Awkwardness, or any approximation of virtues that you might be supposed to stand for. It’s called Mansfield Park. Fanny is the Pygmalion of Mansfield Park, and in that sense is as central as I ever thought she was, but, as with any Pygmalion story, it is the hands of her Makers that the novel is concerned with more than anything else. I spent the first read looking at the product instead of the creator. That was my mistake, and that was the mistake that I corrected this time. Looking at it from that perspective, it isn’t even as if Austen is breaking a pattern here, considering her other real estate named novel. I had been used to placing this novel and Northanger Abbey in opposing corners, but it turns out that this novel is less a departure for Austen and more of a return to the interests and focus of her earlier career. In Northanger Abbey, Austen focused on lampooning wider trends in society, on the Gothic trend in popular culture and novels, the experience and expectations of young girls, the effects and power of money, social climbing, and the realities of many an unequal marriage. It was about Catherine in the sense that she was a well-meaning person who encountered these things, was affected by them and made a tortured example of what Austen considered intolerable nonsense, but Austen examined those things through her rather than the reverse. There is more interest in commenting on wider trends here than on examining an individual and whatever happens to be mixed up inside there, although of course with Austen’s minute and particular observational powers, there will always be some individual moments that ring true. Neither is this novel about Fanny, but rather about new trends and new societal influences that Austen was concerned with. However, rather than the light touch, the laughing eye, the pleased-with-herself cleverness that she seemed to delight in for nearly the entirety of Northanger Abbey (with an exception to be dealt with later), Mansfield Park carries the voice of maturity and accordingly weightier concerns. Unfortunately, it seems that, like Elizabeth, Austen has seen more of the world and the more that she saw; the more that she was dissatisfied with it. A character flaw she could once dismiss or punish by making someone ridiculous in a party scene or a serious misstep that she could once smooth over and let Life Go On no longer seems so funny or so easily dismissed. It’s not a game any more. So this, I think, is where the tone that puts many people off this book comes from- a tone that can seem prudish, moralizing, humorless, and even bitter at points. Who wants to watch when Beatrice, born to speak all mirth and no matter (or so she can cleverly claim), suddenly gives up and stops laughing and seemingly becomes Lady Disdain in fact? It’s hard to see the harsh side of the intellect win out, even temporarily. I’m sure that’s another major part of what put me off last time. It’s easier to call hard things names than see what they have to say and take it seriously. What a difference a fresh approach, with my eyes open to my own prejudices, made. Coming to it with a clean slate meant that I could see Austen’s brilliance from the very first page. Austen’s light touch sometimes means that, like the best grand masters, her handiwork is often hidden behind an absorbing story and characters that we are too involved with to pause to admire the brushstrokes and word choice that got us there. But this time I was able to do that, man is she fantastically brilliant. Let’s take a moment to just demonstrate this through an examination of the masterpiece of a first chapter. “About thirty years ago, Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park, in the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised to the rank of a baronet’s lady, with all the comforts and consequences of a handsome house and large income. All Huntingdon exclaimed on the greatness of the match, and her uncle, the lawyer, himself allowed her to be at least three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to it. In two sentences, Austen gave her readers everything they needed to know about what this story was going to be about, what was going to be seen as important in this society, and something of the tone with which it was going to be treated. I know that where, down to the specific town, that something happens, is of vital importance and can and will, in Austen’s view, change all the action. I know, to the letter, exactly the social “level” of the society that I will be dealing with and the sort of concerns and anxieties that that comes along with it. More than this, I can tell, right away, that this is a story of small and everyday concerns in a small society of populated by even smaller, busybody sorts of people. And you know what? She didn’t use the word “small” once, or suggest that anything that was happening was small or insignificant in any way. Instead, she uses the language and structure of clauses, adding increasing amounts of specificity to cut down the significance of her story bit by bit, “about thirty years ago,” “Miss Maria Ward,” “Huntingdon,” “county of Northampton,” “her uncle, the lawyer.” By the time we reach the end of her clauses, we have qualified ourselves into absurdity, and are in the mood for the first satiric cut at the values that support this social system. The tone is all perfectly reasonable observation, but the cuts continue: “She had two sisters to be benefitted by her elevation, and such of their acquaintance as thought Miss Ward and Miss Frances quite as handsome as Miss Maria did not scruple to predict them marrying with almost equal advantage. But there certainly are not so many men of large fortune in the world as there are pretty women who deserve them.” It’s quite skilled, what she does there. She delivers more information to us and starts to take us down an expected path of storytelling, with an appropriately fairy tale-esque set of three sisters with differing fates who meet with a surprise that must be resolved. We’re settling in for a tale by a fireside and all of our expectations of that without even quite realizing it because her cover of wry wit keeps things moving along at a brisk pace. But she has you now. What happened to those other two sisters? That means its time for another talent of Austen’s, sorting and categorizing people into uncomfortably recognizable individuals that it is hard not to react strongly when you hear just one more of their spot-on, of COURSE she did pronouncements. She sorts through the sisters’ personalities by giving them the situation of their sister’s marriage to a poor Marine to deal with and seeing how they react. It’s interesting, because right off the bat, the narration doesn’t make me want to totally condemn either sister. Lady Bertram’s placid indifference to the fate of likely-soon-to-be-in-need-of-help sister seems almost as contemptible as Mrs. Norris’ officious interfering and tale-telling. There could even almost be an argument to be made that Mrs. Norris’ anger was justified, looked at from a certain point of view, and at least she didn’t simply drop her sister from her life. Sure, it was just likely to make trouble as anything, but it was doing something. But it does let me know who they are, quite quickly. I can already see how I think they move and walk, how they are likely to talk and the likely subjects that they will discourse on when they do. I can see their gestures when they ring for tea and I know what their attitude to someone being late is likely going to be. And she didn’t tell me a word about any of that. The final missing piece is a more thorough examination of the morals and values that will provide the foundation for the actions and reactions of the novel. Austen has already given me hints of it ( “about three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to it,” “not so many men of large fortune as there are pretty women to deserve them” “.. could not possibly keep [it] to herself… ), but now is the time to lower the boom. Therefore, the meat of the next several pages is taken up with working through the somewhat different thoughts of Mrs. Norris and Sir Thomas on the subject of charity and generosity. They examine a project, entirely conceived, proposed and pushed for by Mrs. Norris, to adopt one of her poor sister’s children. Sir Thomas is hesitant: “He debated and hesitated;- it was a serious charge;- a girl so brought up must be adequately provided for, or there would be cruelty instead of kindness in taking her from her family…. “ “… I only meant to observe, that it ought not to be lightly engaged in and to make it really serviceable to Mrs. Price, and credible to ourselves, we must secure to the child, or consider ourselves engaged to secure hereafter, as circumstances may arise, the provision of a gentlewoman.” Mrs. Norris soothes him that she’ll be very involved with it and makes like she's going to give Fanny all her worldly possessions, and each of them decide to move forward, both of them rather pleased with themselves: “The division of gratifying sensations ought not, in strict justice, to have been equal; for Sir Thomas was fully resolved to be the real and consistent patron of the selected child, and Mrs. Norris had not the least intention of being at any expense whatever in her maintenance. As far as walking, talking and contriving reached, she was thoroughly benevolent, and nobody knew better how to dictate liberality to others, but her love of money was equal to her love of directing and she knew quite as well how to save her own as to spend that of friends… though perhaps she might so little know herself, as to walk home to the Parsonage after this conversation, in the happy belief of being the most liberal-minded sister and aunt in the world.” Therefore when Sir Thomas opens the not unreasonable subject of sharing responsibility for their new charge, there are a thousand excuses and not one single prayer of a chance that Mrs. Norris will do anything material to help. By the time I am done with the first chapter, then, I understand the two understandings of morality that we will be dealing with in this book. The first, the morality that is entirely of appearances and outward show, bent mostly on using it to accomplish personal aims and the second, a morality that is really actually concerned with finding and doing the right thing, and thinking through a situation to figure out what that right thing might be, despite the imperfections of a situation or person involved. It’s the difference between knowing what is right, but not being prepared to do anything about it, and a person who acts on that knowledge to the best of their ability. It’s already so much more interesting and less black and white than many other possible paths that could have been taken. That took only eleven pages. Slightly less than, in my edition, actually. That’s all, and I am already deeply familiar with the rules, official and unofficial wants and desires of the society we’re in, I feel that I have a very good idea about who the people I am going to be spending time with are, and I know something about the sort of conflict I will be dealing with. Moreover, I am invested in finding out how this charitable “experiment” works out, if only so I can hate-watch Mrs. Norris and her breathtaking awfulness. I got so much information, without it ever feeling like the “info dump” that you get at the start of a fantasy novel. Instead, Austen’s version of the prologue did not concern itself with merely loading us up with names and atmosphere, but rather took a moment to accomplish the much more important task of building a bridge and connecting to the characters and the society of the novel. But what about Fanny, you ask, insistently? What are we to do with her? Do we really have to just put up with her as a heroine for the sake of everything that comes along with it? My answer is yes: But only if you are absolutely determined to see her as a heroine, which would be a mistake and a waste of Austen’s handiwork. As we’ve already seen in our examination of the first chapter, our “main character” is barely introduced, by name, and not at all for herself as a person. She isn’t chosen for her position based on drawing any swords out of stones or volunteering as tribute. She’s referred to as “the girl,” or the “oldest girl,” and taken for the random accident of her birth. That makes sense, because Fanny is the product of her circumstances, first that of her birth and then the place where she was largely raised into adulthood. Fanny is the expression of what an average, well-meaning girl in her place might turn out to be. But she is no heroine. She’s small and scared and timid. She is constantly worried by what she should be doing or saying, constantly ready to read and react to the possible negative reactions of anyone around her. It makes sense, it’s a survival mechanism that probably contributed to her doing so well in this house. It means, however, that her first reaction is always going to be, “But wait, could I get in trouble for doing that? God knows I have been told often enough that I am a sub-human due to my birth and financial circumstances, and if I do something wrong, I could lose whatever precarious position I have.” Of course, half the time, Fanny is just pissing people off with this, coming off like she thinks she’s superior or making them feel bad about their own moral choices, but she can’t take the risk of doing something less than morally irreproachable, because the one time she decides to do that and it turns out that someone is in the mood to condemn her, she’ll lose the only thing she has to trade on for her own self-worth and, she thinks, her worth in the eyes of others: her general impression of moral virtue that she’s been able to gain for herself. And that’s not a small thing to lose for a girl who doesn’t have the money or the title or the overwhelming beauty to make up for it. All she has is, “Fanny is a good girl,” as an assurance of a place to eat and sleep of some minimal quality. That’s why it made so much sense that she would want a public and unanimous appeal to her to participate in the play, and only after some mishap made it necessary, in order to do it. Although she admits that she would like to participate at some point, it’s important that that’s not why she’s doing it. She’s not entitled to that sort of feeling of preference or doing things for pleasure, or so she thinks. (There’s a brilliant line when the whole party goes to Southerton for a day-outing that deals with this. Mrs. Norris is being all pissy because she wasn’t able to exclude Fanny from going with them and getting all huffy about how grateful Fanny should be for the special, special beyond belief treat that her lowly drudge self does not deserve and Edmund just replies, rather sharply, “Fanny will feel as grateful as the occasion warrants.” Like, lady, I see what you are doing there and GOD, you are exhausting.) I wouldn’t take this as evidence of any consistent knight-in-shiny armor deal going on with Edmund, though, that might redeem this for you. Another reason she is not a heroine is that you will be SO disappointed by her hero counterpoint if you try to think of it that way. Barely even ONE tenet of Romantic happiness is evident here. Edmund is a good enough sort of fellow. He starts out in the second camp of people who really do try to do the right thing and think through situations to figure out what that right thing is. However, that is increasingly compromised throughout the novel when he becomes obsessed with the newly arrived hot chick, Mary Crawford. We then get, I would say, upwards of 100 pages of him joining the Mrs. Norris dark side and convincing himself that what is selfishly best for him is also the right thing to do. He’s also just the most enormously pathetic sucker, hanging on to even the slightest evidence of Mary’s care for him, dealing with her blowing hot and cold and blaming it all on her circumstances or the way that she was raised. He even spends actual chapters trying to convince Fanny, obviously in love with him (though Austen, again, just wonderfully, never actually says that she is in love with him out right, though she constantly implies it and assumes our knowledge of it as readers throughout), to marry Henry Crawford... (continued in the comments below) * * * ORIGINAL: Dear Jane, Please accept my profound apologies for what I am about to write. I would be most grateful if you would be inattentive to the following review. Please believe in my most profound respect and adoration for you. Yours & etc, Kelly So, the writing is fine. But the heroine is... difficult to like. I'd have more sympathy for her if there was more of a personality in there. But her major character traits seem to be moralizing, correctness and dullness. It is nothing like Austen's usual impressive characterization. It was a chore getting through this. I wouldn't take this as representative of the rest of Austen's novels, in terms of tone or character. I also would warn you that if you're a fan of the movie, you will probably not be a huge fan of the book. This Fanny is not like that Fanny. I can understand why the director changed her character and made that story more about Austen. I think this book could be pretty deathly on the screen otherwise. I'd really say skip this one, or at least try everything else first. I'm due for a re-read, so we'll see if I change my mind or if perhaps I was seduced by the flash and sparkle of Lizzy, Emma, Elinor and Marianne. But at this point I find it hard to recommend.

Michelle De graphicsmd — I enjoyed reading this book and could really relate to many of the feelings she expressed about raising her sons. My only complaint is that she frequently repeated the same sentiments over and over and I found myself skimming through several pages. This book isn't a page turner but I think many mothers of teenagers will relate to the trials and tribulations of raising (and letting go of) their children.

Ray East motionauthors — as far as self-help books go, this one's easy to read. a bit psychodynamic for my tastes, but it did have some interesting insights.