The story of Heidi August 6, 2012

 

Heidi by Johanna Spyri

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I recall my childhood days when my school copy of Heidi was worn to tatters because I never could get enough of reading about the little orphan girl who goes up to the Swiss Alps to live with her hermit grandfather. I loved how the relationship between the little girl and the old man grew, and how she touched the hearts of all she came in contact with. There was wonder in those beautiful mountains where the goats would play with Heidi and feed and fresh herbs, and in the cry of the eagle echoing off the snow-capped mountains. There was magic in the fir trees that surrounded the grandfather’s hut, and oh how I longed to have a bed of hay just like Heidi!

Now, more than twenty years later, I re-read the old childhood favourite, and I’m relieved to see, that while I could not exactly capture that child-like enthusiasm for this book, I could still see what it was the drew me to this story. If I were a child now I believe I would still be as drawn to it as I was then.

But as an adult other things begin to intrude….most notably, language.

My e-book copy had a preface written by the translator who claimed to be a native of the same place as Johanna Spyri. With that claim he seeks to tell the reader that his work as translator could bring out the literary finesse of the original story (written in German). I think what got me the most was that he likened himself to Joseph Conrad (a non-native English speaker said to be the greatest writer in the language)!! Expecting some brilliant writing, I could not help but wonder if this was the same version I did when I was in school. The translation was stilted and unwholesome, and though bringing out the quaintness of scenes in some parts, in others it only sought to distract.

I wish I could give my readers an example from the novel itself, but as I’m done with and am not up to combing through it again for a sample or two I will just have to leave you with my opinion of the translation.

As a children’s work it is beautiful and fun. But an adult reading for the first time might find even the plot rather dull and saccharine. Heidi seems the perfect little girl. There is no person in the book who is not kind, and there is no person in the story who would not do anything for Heidi because she would do anything for them. Rather stilted and contrived in that manner…but charming in its own way.

 

Anne of Avonlea August 6, 2012

 

 

Anne of Avonlea by L.M. Montgomery

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I’ve been in the mood for some light-hearted reading this past week and what better books to read than by those by Lucy Maud Montgomery? My first ever book by this writer was Rainbow Valleywhich is  about Anne Shirley’s children. I read the final book in the series as well before I realised that there were six prequels all about Anne. I got to read Anne  of Green Gables but never got further…until now.

Looking back I think the reason I never continued with the series is because the pages of description on background and setting used to annoy me agreat deal. I recall skipping several pages simply to get to the ‘story’! However, those same cumbersome descriptions have been an absolute delight to read now. One can just lose oneself in Montgomery’s descriptions….she always seems to be opening up a glimpse of paradise for her readers! What an imagination!…..do places like the ones she describes, still exist outside of the imagination?

In this second book of the series Anne Shirley is sixteen and the Avonlea school teacher. We experience along with her the trials and joys of teaching little ones and being part of a close knit community. She meets some interesting new people whom she quickly befriends. Of all the new people she meets I found the strangest one to be Miss Lavendar. In fact, while Anne quite fell in love with her, I found her down right creepy. She seemed to me a slightly milder version of Dickens’ Miss Haversham. She is a woman in her mid forties living in a dream world of flowers, fairies and echoes, dressing up for make-believe company and what not! It goes without saying that Anne adores her, but one would hope our heroine would have more common sense than to turn out that way at forty!!

I love Anne’s temper and penchant for trouble. I think these qualities are what really save her from being a bore. Personally, I find her imagination is a bit much too much to handle, and I’m thankful that the author keeps the story going with down-to-earth plots!

I’d like to end this post with the following quote simply because I found this a lovely definition of poetry.

Look do you see that poem?” she said suddenly, pointing.

“Where?” Jane and Diana stared, as if expecting to see Runic rhymes on the birch trees.

“There . . . down in the brook . . . that old green, mossy log with the water flowing over it in those smooth ripples that look as if they’d been combed, and that single shaft of sunshine falling right athwart it, far down into the pool. Oh, it’s the most beautiful poem I ever saw.”

“I should rather call it a picture,” said Jane. “A poem is lines and verses.”

“Oh dear me, no.” Anne shook her head with its fluffy wild cherry coronal positively. “The lines and verses are only the outward garments of the poem and are no more really it than your ruffles and flounces are YOU, Jane. The real poem is the soul within them . . . and that beautiful bit is the soul of an unwritten poem. It is not every day one sees a soul . . . even of a poem.”