The Merry Men and Other Stories by R. L. Stevenson - a brief review

The Merry Men and Other Tales and Fables by Robert Louis Stevenson

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


The stories in this collection are linked by being largely moral in nature. The Merry Men focuses on guilt, conscience and payment for sins; Markheim follows a similar line with a supernatural interference; Thrawn Janet is an episode of a priest and a possessed woman; Will O' the Mill is a contemplation on whether it is better to experience all the world or live a simple life; Olalla is a bizarre story of a fallen and ruined family and choosing to sacrifice personal happiness to prevent future evil; finally The Treasure of Franchard highlights the importance of family, simple things and the evils of money, at least too much of it in the wrong hands.

Despite that, none of them beat the reader over the head with didactic ramblings, and each story has a charm and character of its own to keep the reader intrigued. Olalla ends disappointingly to mine, but the hook of the secret was only just strong enough to keep me going with it anyway. The descriptions in The Merry Men, of the raging sea and the desolate land, are beautifully rendered in true Stevenson style.

In all, this is a pleasant and enjoyable collection, but not one of much mark.



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A Concise Review of a Concise History of India by Francis Watson

India: A Concise History by Francis Watson

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


This book tackles its immense task admirably and gives a good overview of the historical movements, and some of the key figures within that. It, naturally enough, gets a bit clogged in names and places and events that it can't possibly spell out clearly, and could probably have profited by a few more maps to clarify. Nevertheless, given its scope it's an amazing achievement, that also highlights the importance of India in broader world history.



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Dinosaurs, telekinetic teens and horned youths

A couple of decades and four sequels late, I finally watched Jurassic Park the other day. I don't know why it took me quite that long but it did. Aside from being a bit dated, and screaming 'Spielberg directed this' from the first sequence (not in itself a bad thing), it was a good movie. I can imagine seeing it in the cinema in its day would have provoked the desired shrieks and gasps. I played the Lego game of the first four movies last year, so a few spoilers, but with some obvious gaps in my understanding.

What I found myself thinking about after watching it was the characters and how they might have been in the novel. One of the few things I know about Michael Crichton as a writer is that several of his books have ended up as movies, which he also writes the screenplays for. For some reason I cannot explain, that put me off reading anything he wrote. Some irrational bias I had I guess, tall poppy maybe. But from the movie I sensed a lot of depth to the characters which could only be achieved to a degree on the screen, which means in the book these scientists and moguls are much more detailed. I found myself wondering if the abortive love triangle is somewhat more considered, if ultimately as unsuccessful on the third spoke's part.

This led me on a dinosaur train (not the Henson Company variety), to Stephen King. Growing up a somewhat squeamish child of the 1980s the name Stephen King meant movies I didn't want to watch even if most of my friends kept telling me they weren't scary. As such, I had another of my irrational biases not to read anything he wrote. When I got married I found that my wife had a King section in her library, so during a test match I decided I should finally read one of his books. Carrie was thin so I went with that.

There is no way I will watch a movie of that book, I've seen pictures and know the idea, I wouldn't enjoy it. Nor do I feel it would do justice to what was an amazing book. I had heard that the schlock movies of his work were poor reflections of his skill, now I know it. Carrie is a harrowing tale, which manages to create tension and character in an economical way. I could empathise with Carrie, even when she was lost in her own destruction and rage.

A final stop on the train is Horns. I saw the movie starring Daniel Radcliffe a few years ago, and I highly recommend it for its dark humour and subtle humanity. It too is based on a novel, this one by Joe Hill. After watching the movie I decided the novel is probably very good, I predict Hill is witty, with good sense of character and mood. I guess in this case a good movie has recommended a writer to me, instead of bad movies turning me off one. My own maturity levels probably have something to do with it too.

Does this mean the book is better than the movie? No. They're distinct works, whether one is 'based' on the other or not. Saying the book is better is as good as saying apples are better than carrots. You may prefer one, but you can't judge them in the same way, they're completely different. That's why I can enjoy Wells' The Time Machine and still enjoy the 2001 film with Guy Pearce. It's its own work, an adaptation, not a translation. Try to remember that when watching different versions of things, they're different stories even if they're directly based on each other.

Keep dreaming!

The Way to Ascend

Today one of the Squid's old friends came by. He's a part-time archaeology teacher with a fedora and a bullwhip, you know the type. Nice abs. He taught me that X never marks the spot, but sometimes the Roman numeral for 10 may, but only in medieval European libraries.

Anyway, he told me he'd seen signs indicating there was a way to ascend buried in my backyard. Not one to scoff at the ideas of a friend of the Squid I joined him on an expedition. He told me he knew the best digging team in Cairo - of course, in Hobart that's not much use, so he let me do the digging.

Some blackberries had to die, but that had to happen anyway so it was a gain really. And after what felt like hours, but was probably less than one, it lay bare before us. The surface was still covered in dirt so we couldn't make out any secret markings if there were any, but the structure was plain, and from where I was standing there could be no doubt about, we had excavated a true way to ascend.

We did so. It was amazing, the view is slightly different from up there. Tragically, our mode of ascension had ceased to be so, and served only to take us lower. The Squid's friend said that was often the way with such artefacts, then he noticed the sun was setting, jumped on a horse and rode off, leaving me with so many questions, and these ...

A Sentimental Mug

I get sentimental about the most random objects. Recently, a mug got a crack in it, coffee leaking slowly out through the whole height of it. I liked that mug. It was a good size for a coffee, and a red colour that wasn’t too bold or too pink. It was a Kris Kringle present from years ago, the job before my last one. It came filled with Lindt chocolate balls. I used it at work for a bit then took it home where it became my main coffee mug after the tragic death of the blue funny face mug I’d bought to match my green funny faced tea mug.

Writing this I realise it’s mugs that seem to interest me, but I can’t say why. Right now on my desk are two mugs, both had coffee in them, I’m a slacker and forgot the first one. It’s a white one with the words ‘I’m silently correcting your grammar’. My niece gave it to me a few years ago, and everyone seems to find it most apt. I do do it silently. The other is a Star Wars mug with pretend posters based on The Force Awakens. It was from my wife and son.

Who’d have thought inexpensive mugs would make such treasured gifts? They’re impermanent, as the puddles of coffee under my red mug prove, but they last years, and with every sip there's a reminder that for a moment in some chain store someone thought of you.

Sentimentality is seen as a weakness at times. Certainly, if I actually cried over the mug there’d be reason to question things. But, if it is a matter of association and remembrance, perhaps it’s good to be sentimental, even over inconsequential things like coffee mugs.

Don’t get me started on teacups.

Keep dreaming.