4 of 4 people found the following review helpful
The Cranford Gals
, June 29, 2011
This review is from: Cranford (Oxford World's Classics) (Paperback)
Not really a novel, but more of a series of stories of the narrators recalling of her time spent in the fictional Cranford. Quite funny in parts ("When it was ended, she turned to me, and said with mild dignity, 'Fetch me "Rasselas," my dear , out of the book-room." You know things are going to heat up when someone is going to go and get the Dr.). Once upon a time writers used to have love for their characters they created, which I believe is why so little of fiction from the last 50-100 years or more appeals to me.
Unfortunately, the Introduction is a horror of modern criticism bugaboo gone wild. I'm remined of Kerouac's saying "I have the critics explaing me to me." This is the sort of intro that trots out the writers (and what about the practise of putting the editor, the person who does the introduction, and the likes, NAME on the cover, inside and everywhere else, as large as the Authors? Its quite funny to look up a writer on Amazon and see someone elses name tagged along, as if Dante and Homer and the rest had a helper writer we didn't know about!) pet peeves and overly biased views: "In his healthy appetite for food ('the peas were going wholesale into his capacious mouth,' p. 33) we see an image of sexual appetite, unhampered by social shibboleths." We do? Maybe you do, but I don't. It's amazing how many writers attribute their loony views to poor writers who, in all probability, meant no such thing (Freud, Fraud, Freud...). And they can't refute such nonsense and drivel, most being dead (and being dead being beyond refutation).
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