Lark Rise – Flora Thompson

What is this book – besides wonderful? It’s not a novel, not a memoir, not a sociological study, though all these elements exist. What seems predominant is the latter – its recreation of an English farming hamlet in the mid 1800s. I believe that Thompson’s intent was to bring to life a world that had passed away. But it was her world, the one she grew up in, so there’s a personal aspect. And the way she presents it to us – its homes, the work of men and women, the games children play (and much more) – flows like fiction. I found this to be a unique and wholly successful venture by an author who left school at age twelve. What interest do I have in her subject? Well, it turns out that I have great interest, for Thompson’s focus is always on human beings; there are no facts that aren’t linked with people. Her main character, Laura, is rarely an active participant in an event, and doesn’t often express an emotion or give an opinion. Probably, in these 230 pages, you could gather the times she emerges as a personality and it would amount to maybe a dozen pages. Yet – and this is remarkable – she exists, I knew her. Her brother Edmund (which was the real name of Thompson’s brother) appears even less frequently, yet we develop feelings for him because we get to know Laura’s feelings for him. She doesn’t present Lark Rise in an idyllic light, nor with rancor – there’s good and bad. It’s a place where poverty is a fact of life, but the underlying message may be that people make the best of the world they find themselves in. This first book was written when the author was sixty-three, so there’s the perspective of time (and some nostalgia). She died eight years later, after writing two shorter sequels that continue the story. I need to touch on the ending of Lark Rise, which shows Thompson’s ability to quietly produce an effect. The last sentence is stunning, in the sense that it stuns – or moves – the reader. At least it did this one. I should also note that this book was a “browsing the stacks” discovery (which is something I’ve been doing all my reading life). I pull from the stacks a book by an author I’ve never heard of, and read the first few sentences, then a few sentences from a random page. Good, inviting prose? What does the summary say? Is it a subject I have some interest in? If so, I take it home and give it a chance. I’ve found some real gems this way. *

At Bertram’s Hotel – Agatha Christie

The “About the Author” page states that only Shakespeare and the Bible have outsold Christie. I won’t be adding to the billions. This is my third go at her work, and it’s the last; for a diversion I’ll have to look elsewhere. Christie writes smooth, clear prose, and she’s good with dialogue, but in Hotel her plot is weak. And scattered. The ending – the solution – is long, unconvincing (the hotel a den of master criminals?) and foolish (there are too many “Ah ha!”moments). It’s deemed a Miss Marple Mystery, but she plays a minor role; a Chief-Inspector Davy does the heavy lifting. His persistence was the only interesting thing in the book.

Crazy Horse – Larry McMurtry

This is one of those short Penguin Lives biographies. They all have a portrait of the subject on the cover, but in this instance it’s a barely distinguishable face. Which is fitting, for no image of Crazy Horse exists. And there are few verifiable facts about his character or deeds. McMurtry states at the outset that “any study of Crazy Horse will be, of necessity, an exercise in assumption, conjecture and surmise.” The approach he takes is to offer claims while identifying them as being unsubstantiated; many he dismisses as outright false. Even Crazy Horse’s death, which was a public event at Fort Robinson, contains so many conflicting accounts that it’s impossible to get at the truth (beyond the fact that he died from a bayonet wound). The role he played in the Battle of Little Bighorn is unknown. His status among the Indians is not clear; Crazy Horse was no head chief whose word was obeyed (a role he most likely, given his solitary nature, would have rejected). I finished this book not having any clear idea of the man or his accomplishments. Yet an overview of the tortured relationship between the white settlers and the Indians emerges. Many whites wanted them exterminated. Actually, the life of the Plains Indians did end with what was close to an extermination: the vast herds of buffalo they depended on were nearly wiped out by “sportsmen.” The Indians were no dupes, nor were they noble. And they could be a formidable war force. But many recognized the inevitable – the whites were too strong, too numerous – and tried to bargain for terms that were at least acceptable. Promises were made by the whites, sincere ones, but the higher-ups in Washington revoked them. I’m quite sure, from what I gather about Crazy Horse, that he would not have adapted to reservation life, so maybe his death was a blessing. I have respect for what McMurtry has done here, and I also appreciate his giving credit on several occasions to Evan Connell’s excellent nonfiction account of the struggle for the Great Plains, Son of the Morning Star.