My 10 favourite classics of all time

I think it's been over a year now since I posted anything other than just a straight up review on here, and I've decided to make things a little bit more varied over the next couple of months. I'm kick-starting this with this super-quick top 10 classics post. Hopefully (maybe?) it'll inspire your choice in the next classic to read, or you'll be able to relate with me on some level about my love for that particular text. So, without any further babble, let's go. 

In no particular order, here are my 10 favourite classic texts of all time:

1.) Pablo Neruda's poetry, in particular 'Ode to the Clothes'. He manages to make the most ordinary of things the most beautiful, and really changed my opinion of what poetry could do.

2.) Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Let's face it, this was always going to be on my list, I mean, I am an ex-English student after all. This was the first text I ever remember studying in which it was clear that the author had imbued every scene with symbolism and hidden meanings.

3.) Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus. This is one of his earliest and least famous texts. It's also one of his bloodiest and seeing it at the RSC was a once-in-a-lifetime treat for me that I'll never forget.

4.) Dickens' Bleak House. Part of me has no idea why I like this - it's long, I had to make a physical list of characters so I didn't get confused, and the plot has about 17 thousand strands. But, seeing all those strands come together and finally reading a book in which Dickens offered a fairly realistic insight into the mind of a woman (for once) made it all worth it. 

5.) Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights. Pre-warn: there are going to be a fair few Victorian texts on here, but I love them, so we're all just gonna have to deal with it. This is possibly my favourite book of all time, and it's something that I really savour coming back to time and time again. I've possibly read it five? times now and each time I come away feeling bowled over by this woman's incredible writing.

6.) Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. I actually remember borrowing this off of my mum when I was a teenager and I fell totally in love with the whole Jane-Rochester debacle. I'd tried reading Austen before, and assumed all Victorian texts fell under the same dreary brush (sorry Austen fans), but this definitely opened up my eyes to the power of Victorian literature.

7.) Stoker's Dracula. I've got a little confession here: I only actually read this for the first time about a year and a half ago. It's one of those texts that was so hyped up I was actually put off of it. When I read it however I was totally wowed by how many of our notions about Vampires come from this one text, and how forward it was in terms of discussing sex.

8.) Hardy's Tess of the D'Ubervilles. All I can say is that I warned you about how much of this would be Victorian. Sorry not sorry. Seriously though, get your hands on an unedited copy of this and you can get a real insight into how society treated a 'fallen' aka non-virginial woman, way back when.

9.) Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin. This broke my heart and mended it all over again about seven times. If you're looking for an insight into the world of America's slave trade, then this is a good place to start.

10.) Donne's 'The Broken Heart'. I actually read this Medieval poem when I was studying my a-levels, in an attempt to secure some extra reading to help with my university application. What I didn't envision was falling totally in love with it and finding what still remains my favourite poem of all time.

I honestly thought I was going to struggle to think of 10 texts, but here I am struggling to contain all my favourites within a mere list of ten. I feel like writing this post in itself has been a journey for me, reminding me of why I love reading, and why certain books touched me at certain points in my life. I'm also feeling totally inspired to get back in to reading poetry and plays, to the extent that I'm now considering having a 'poem of the week' post once a week. Would you guys like that? I'd love to hear some input!

Review of "A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle"

The quotation above pretty much describes my current mood: "I am not so much drunk, as tired - dead done". The first few days back at uni have been exhausting - meal prepping, unpacking, going to lectures and seminars, going to the gym, and trying to fit in time for some actual uni work and reading as well! I'm currently sat in bed with a toasty mug of green tea, in some new fluffy PJs hoping that tomorrow is less hectic. 

As you've probably already guessed, this book isn't the easiest in the world to read. It's in fact a long poem written in vernacular Scottish - imagine coming across a drunk Scottish farmer in a rural area and you've just about got the gist of it. Oh, and get that farmer to translate the odd Russian poem into Scots dialect here and there. The entire text is purposefully de-anglocentric, as MacDiarmid was calling for a Scottish Renaissance in terms of literature. To move away from the static resonance to English literature in Scottish fiction was most definitely the way forward in his eyes.

I have to say, this wasn't a book I would necessarily read if I didn't have to. Having said that, it's really the only text by a Scottish author that I've ever read which defies English literature, and stands up in opposition to it. The whole notion that Scottish people do not have a language of their own, which pervades the entire poem, really pointed out to me something which I'd never thought about before. Moreover, if you want to read some fantastic imagery concerning thistles (a bit niche, but hey ho), then check it out!

Have you read it? What did you think?

Steph 

Book A Day | #19 and #20

Day 19 - Travelling Home Reading This

Although this picture was clearly not taking whilst travelling, I did read this as I came home from uni a couple of weeks ago, ready for the festivities to kick in. Check out my review of the book here

Day 20 - Set Where I live

I don't have a picture for this one, but I do have a poem for you guys:

Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!

It isn't fit for humans now, 

There isn't grass to graze a cow. 

Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs and blow to smithereens

Those air -conditioned, bright canteens, 

Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans, 

Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town-

A house for ninety-seven down

And once a week a half a crown 

For twenty years.

And get that man with double chin

Who'll always cheat and always win, 

Who washes his repulsive skin 

In women's tears:

And smash his desk of polished oak

And smash his hands so used to stroke

And stop his boring dirty joke

And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add

The profits of the stinking cad;

It's not their fault that they are mad, 

They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know 

The birdsong from the radio, 

It's not their fault they often go 

To Maidenhead

And talk of sport and makes of cars

In various bogus-Tudor bars 

And daren't look up and see the stars

But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care

Their wives frizz out peroxide hair

And dry it in synthetic air

And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough

To get it ready for the plough.

The cabbages are coming now;

The earth exhales.

Pleasant, I know. But let's be realistic, this little town on the edge of London still isn't the nicest of places, though Betjeman may have been a tad extreme here.

What were your choices?

Steph

Book-A-Day #11 & #12 | Christmas Classic and Book of Poems

So, I've already failed in keeping up with doing this everyday, whoops! I had a bit of a hectic day trying to do research for an essay (and watching What Happens in Vegas with pizza). But, I'm making up for it today!

Harry Potter will probably always be my most Christmassy of reads. I don't think anybody can read them and not remember the hideous jumpers that the Weasleys receive every year out of the kindness of their mother's heart. Or Harry's invisibility cloak. I also don't think you can read them without wanting to spend a Christmas at Hogwarts. Their Yule Ball and atmosphere is just so lovely. Plus, y'know, the films are always on here in the UK over this period.

Now, Hardy's poems are one of very few books of poems I own, though he's far from my favourite poet. Donne takes that title. I'm gonna leave you guys with my favourite ever poem here, cause I think it's something everyone should get the chance to read. And, if you want to check out something a bit raunchy for a 17th Century poem, go to his "The Flea", or the majority of his short poems!

The Broken Heart

He is stark mad, whoever says,
    That he hath been in love an hour,
Yet not that love so soon decays,
    But that it can ten in less space devour ;
Who will believe me, if I swear
That I have had the plague a year?
    Who would not laugh at me, if I should say
    I saw a flash of powder burn a day?

Ah, what a trifle is a heart,
    If once into love's hands it come !
All other griefs allow a part
    To other griefs, and ask themselves but some ;
They come to us, but us love draws ;
He swallows us and never chaws ;
    By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks do die ;
    He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.

If 'twere not so, what did become
    Of my heart when I first saw thee?
I brought a heart into the room,
    But from the room I carried none with me.
If it had gone to thee, I know
Mine would have taught thine heart to show
    More pity unto me ; but Love, alas !
    At one first blow did shiver it as glass.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
    Nor any place be empty quite ;
Therefore I think my breast hath all
    Those pieces still, though they be not unite ;
And now, as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
    My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
    But after one such love, can love no more.

What would your choices have been?

Steph