Contains: Mr. Harrison's Confessions / Cranford / My Lady Ludlow
In this witty and poignant story the railway is pushing its way relentlessly towards the town from Manchester, bringing fears of migrant workers and the breakdown of law and order. The arrival of handsome young Doctor Harrison causes yet further agitation not just because of his revolutionary methods but also because of his effect on the hearts of the ladies. Meanwhile Miss Matty Jenkyns nurses her own broken heart after she was forced to give up the man she loved when she was a young girl.
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell, née Stevenson (29 September 1810 – 12 November 1865), often referred to simply as Mrs. Gaskell, was an English novelist and short story writer during the Victorian era. Her novels offer a detailed portrait of the lives of many strata of society, including the very poor, and as such are of interest to social historians as well as lovers of literature.
This is actually a collection of the three short books BBC adapted for their "Cranford" miniseries: Dr. Harrison's Confessions, Cranford, & My Lady Ludlow. I thoroughly enjoyed reading the first two. The stories of these small town people are alternately amusing and heartbreaking, and the character of Miss Matty in "Cranford" is so beautifully done. Not a big action or drama book, but tender and comfortable & uplifting. "My Lady Ludlow" was not my favorite because there wasn't any real plot, just a young girl sharing her fascination with Lady Ludlow. I love interesting character studies, but I just didn't connect with this one. It also tends to go off on tangents, one of which took up a good portion of the book. The miniseries, which weaves together the characters and events from all three books, is absolutely wonderfull as well!!
This ebook can be free-downloaded here \(^ヮ^)/ thanks, Girlebooks!
*pake bahasa Indonesia aja biar ga ribet ^///^ )>
Terdiri dari tiga cerita (^ o ^)/ karena sudah baca yang Cranford, langsung meluncur ke "Pengakuan Pak Dokter Harrison" XDD
Biarpun setting-nya bukan di Cranford, tapi "aroma" kota kecil yang dipersejatai oleh para "gadis" Amazon itu terasa 11-12 ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ
Bedanya, di sini naratornya adalah seorang dokter muda yang baru merintis karir. Mengikuti petuah senior untuk bersikap ramah dan sopan, si dokter lugu ini malah terjerumus oleh kesantunannya sendiri XDD
Kisahnya kocak-kocak-bego, tipe yang aku suka o(≧▽≦)o Beda [lagi] dengan Cranford yang ada momen mengharukan, sedih, dsb.., yang ini bisa dibilang lebih ringan dan lucu-lucuan aja, tapi tetap masih bisa memetik sesuatu sih XD
Bagaimanapun, karena menghibur: 5☆ untuk Pak Dokter ini~ ____________
*akan di-edit setelah selesai baca Bu Ludlow* ^ ^ ____________
06 Apr 2020 Sempat mangkrak lama pas baca My Lady Ludlow (^///^;;)>
Polanya agak mirip dengan Cranford: Tokoh utamanya seorang perempuan tua, dan penceritaannya diambil dari sudut pandang seorang perempuan muda, dengan lingkungan desa/kota kecil yang penduduknya saling menyelidiki tahu situasi satu sama lain.
Bedanya, kalau Cranford penuh humor, Lady Ludlow ini nyaris tanpa humor, yang bikin bacanya keseretan, kayak mamam kue kacang tanpa disertai teh anget~ Juga, kalau Cranford bisa dibilang bergenre slice-of-life yang hangat, maka LL ini tipe drama yang agak berat, karena mengetengahkan pandangan si Lady yang kolot mengenai status sosial, ke(tidak)adilan dalam pendidikan, serta perbedaan denominasi dalam gereja.
Pandangan LL yang kelewat borjuis tentu saja bikin sebel pembaca berkasta Sudra (*guguk^^) ini~ sampai kira-kira menjelang akhir, di mana
Ending-nya terasa bagai tegukan teh anget yang nyaman, yang menyapu semua prasangka yang bikin seret tenggorokan~ (⌒▽⌒)
I really didn't enjoy this as much as I hoped I would. The first few chapters were quite good but right when I started getting into the story, one of the main characters spent 70 pages narrating a story about the French Revolution that had little to do with the rest of the story and its whole point was to show that only rich people from high class families should be educated. After this 70-page-divertion the book just went downhill from there. A new character was introduced in almost every single chapter and their stories had no connection with each other or with the main story. The whole point of the book was: a rich old hag thinks that only rich people should be educated because if the villagers start getting education she will lose her influence in the community. Meh. Very difficult to care about her.
NOt the same intensity or passion of North and South. I found the humor quaint but it did not grab me like her other books. The women were grousing a lot and I found it not enjoyable.
Estos son una serie de relatos interconectados, el escenario en común el maravilloso pueblo inglés Cranford. Inicialmente publicado por entregas en la revista de Dickens entre 1851-1853, ofrecen un fascinante vistazo a la vida rural inglesa del siglo XIX.
Cranford, una comunidad habitada en su mayoría por mujeres, cada una con su propia personalidad peculiar. A través de la narración de Mary Smith, una visitante ocasional, los lectores son introducidos en este mundo peculiar y acogedor, donde las preocupaciones cotidianas, las intrigas sociales y las pequeñas tragedias forman el tejido de la vida.
Uno de los aspectos más notables de "Las Crónicas de Cranford" es la manera en que Gaskell aborda temas sociales y políticos de la época, como la pobreza, la industrialización y los cambios en el estatus de la mujer. Aunque Cranford puede parecer un mundo aparte, Gaskell habilmente entrelaza estos problemas en la trama, ofreciendo comentarios astutos sobre la sociedad de su tiempo.
La prosa de Gaskell es elegante y evocadora, capturando la esencia del pueblo y sus habitantes con una mezcla única de ironía y ternura. Sus personajes son vívidos y memorables, desde la dominante señora Jenkyns hasta la amable pero firme señorita Matty. A través de sus historias entrelazadas, Gaskell teje un tapiz complejo de la vida en Cranford, lleno de momentos de humor, tragedia y, sobre todo, humanidad.
Esta recopilación en particular incluye las confesiones del señor Harrison (que para mí es relectura) y Cranford... Hay lectura que terminé con una sonrisa y seguro me releeré con todo gusto... Por cierto la serie de la BBC es maravillosa pero también entrelaza otra novela que es Lady Ludlow que será mi próxima lectura jejeje Ah por cierto un personaje mencionaba en el libro como le gustaba el libro del Club Pickwick y por su culpa también lo empecé y la estoy amando... No puedo parar, estoy muy feliz de haber escogido esta lectura y la super recomiendo.
2.5 stars. Having read both novels and short stories by Elizabeth Gaskell, I am of the firm opinion that her talent lies in writing novels rather than the latter. The Cranford Chronicles falls somewhere between the two as it is made up of three novellas, set in the same place but following different characters and stories.
None of the 3 novellas really did anything for me. They were light and entertaining in their own way but instantly forgettable with nothing to leave a lasting impression. I felt a similar way about Gaskell's short stories so I think the lack of depth and purpose was the biggest issue for me with the novellas too.
I love Gaskell's novels, and believe this is where her writing shines. Gaskell creates settings and characters beautifully and her stories are immersive as a result. Shorter works just don't give her the time to create this and the stories suffer as a result unfortunately.
a collection of three standalone humorous yet poignant, slice-of-life-y victorian-era novellas:
the first, mr. harrison's confessions, is a kind of comedy of errors where a young doctor moves to a small town & his love life gets out of hand. misunderstandings abound, but all's well that ends well.
the second is the titular story, cranford. cranford is a small town where women, particularly older unmarried women, outnumber men. there's a lovely ensemble of characters, but the main one is miss matty, who's a beacon of goodness to all. friendship, family, love, grief, old age, and lots and lots of tea, in the double sense.
the last story, my lady ludlow, is about a good-hearted yet terribly traditional noblewoman. she's very noblesse oblige, and even to the surrounding characters, she seems backwards. for instance, that the new parson wears his own hair, rather than a powdered wig, is quite a mark against him. through her resistance against the mainstream, we get an interesting look into the ideas of the time.
all three are great, but cranford is definitely the crown jewel. the bbc adaptation merges all three and is also very good.
Whoever wrote the blurb on this edition didn't read the book! This is in fact a collection of 3 unrelated novels. The first, Mr Harrison's Confessions, is a delightful account of a handsome, young doctor moving to a new town and getting into lots of 'girl trouble'. The second book, Cranford, I found by far the least engaging. It was very episodic and though several of the storylines were quite interesting, it did not hold together very well. Having read some reviews here on Goodreads, I was dreading the last book, My Lady Ludlow. Many readers seemed to struggle with it but I found it the most interesting of the three. Though not as funny as Mr Harrison's Confessions, it is a very thoughtful analysis of how change happens in small rural communities. Like Cranford it is narrated by a young woman who is more of an observer than a participant but it works better in this book because we have a bit more of her backstory as well as her reflections on what happens. All in all not what I expected but I'm glad I persevered to the end!
Delightful, right off the start. And it continues the delight, reaching a very satisfying state before long, with the innocence and goodness described.
"In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all the holders of houses above a certain rent are women. If a married couple come to settle in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is either fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the Cranford evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his regiment, his ship, or closely engaged in business all the week in the great neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, distant only twenty miles on a railroad. In short, whatever does become of the gentlemen, they are not at Cranford. What could they do if they were there? The surgeon has his round of thirty miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be a surgeon. For keeping the trim gardens full of choice flowers without a weed to speck them; for frightening away little boys who look wistfully at the said flowers through the railings; for rushing out at the geese that occasionally venture in to the gardens if the gates are left open; for deciding all questions of literature and politics without troubling themselves with unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear and correct knowledge of everybody's affairs in the parish; for keeping their neat maid-servants in admirable order; for kindness (somewhat dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender good offices to each other whenever they are in distress, the ladies of Cranford are quite sufficient. "A man," as one of them observed to me once, "is SO in the way in the house!" Although the ladies of Cranford know all each other's proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent to each other's opinions. Indeed, as each has her own individuality, not to say eccentricity, pretty strongly developed, nothing is so easy as verbal retaliation; but, somehow, good-will reigns among them to a considerable degree.
"The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little quarrel, spirited out in a few peppery words and angry jerks of the head; just enough to prevent the even tenor of their lives from becoming too flat. Their dress is very independent of fashion; as they observe, "What does it signify how we dress here at Cranford, where everybody knows us?" And if they go from home, their reason is equally cogent, "What does it signify how we dress here, where nobody knows us?" The materials of their clothes are, in general, good and plain, and most of them are nearly as scrupulous as Miss Tyler, of cleanly memory; but I will answer for it, the last gigot, the last tight and scanty petticoat in wear in England, was seen in Cranford—and seen without a smile."
The delight continues, even through tragedies, including deaths, with the author's turning most into the living characters overcoming them and going on to bloom again. The chapter about Miss Matty taking the visiting author's help to read and destroy old letters that belonged to her parents, is boring until there was a son born. Mrs Jenkyns then had another letter from her father.
"The kind old grandmother was dead when a little boy was born, soon after the publication of the sermon; but there was another letter of exhortation from the grandfather, more stringent and admonitory than ever, now that there was a boy to be guarded from the snares of the world. He described all the various sins into which men might fall, until I wondered how any man ever came to a natural death. The gallows seemed as if it must have been the termination of the lives of most of the grandfather's friends and acquaintance; and I was not surprised at the way in which he spoke of this life being "a vale of tears.""
Very very satisfying finale, too. ............
Mr. Harrison's Confession.
This one is in similar mode to other two works by the author that one just read, Wives And Daughters, and Cranford, in that it's set in a village somewhere in middle of England and deals with life and society of the village, chiefly populated by women unmarried or widowed, with a few families, as far as castes above those of farmers and traders go. This one is written from point of view of a young doctor, Harrison, who is just beginning in his profession, invited to live and work in Duncombe by the resident doctor there.
Quite hilarious, despite all the tragedies, anxieties and more. ............
My Lady Ludlow
The very beginning promises a delight as rich as the other three, unspoilt by the natural flow of life replete with various circumstances. But this one is different from others, and gives a harrowing tale from the French revolution.
"I am an old woman now, and things are very different to what they were in my youth. Then we, who travelled, travelled in coaches, carrying six inside, and making a two days' journey out of what people now go over in a couple of hours with a whizz and a flash, and a screaming whistle, enough to deafen one. Then letters came in but three times a week: indeed, in some places in Scotland where I have stayed when I was a girl, the post came in but once a month;—but letters were letters then; and we made great prizes of them, and read them and studied them like books. Now the post comes rattling in twice a day, bringing short jerky notes, some without beginning or end, but just a little sharp sentence, which well-bred folks would think too abrupt to be spoken. Well, well! they may all be improvements,—I dare say they are; but you will never meet with a Lady Ludlow in these days.
"I will try and tell you about her. It is no story: it has, as I said, neither beginning, middle, nor end.
"My father was a poor clergyman with a large family. My mother was always said to have good blood in her veins; and when she wanted to maintain her position with the people she was thrown among,—principally rich democratic manufacturers, all for liberty and the French Revolution,—she would put on a pair of ruffles, trimmed with real old English point, very much darned to be sure,—but which could not be bought new for love or money, as the art of making it was lost years before. These ruffles showed, as she said, that her ancestors had been Somebodies, when the grandfathers of the rich folk, who now looked down upon her, had been Nobodies,—if, indeed, they had any grandfathers at all. I don't know whether any one out of our own family ever noticed these ruffles,—but we were all taught as children to feel rather proud when my mother put them on, and to hold up our heads as became the descendants of the lady who had first possessed the lace. Not but what my dear father often told us that pride was a great sin; we were never allowed to be proud of anything but my mother's ruffles: and she was so innocently happy when she put them on,—often, poor dear creature, to a very worn and threadbare gown,—that I still think, even after all my experience of life, they were a blessing to the family. You will think that I am wandering away from my Lady Ludlow. Not at all. The Lady who had owned the lace, Ursula Hanbury, was a common ancestress of both my mother and my Lady Ludlow. And so it fell out, that when my poor father died, and my mother was sorely pressed to know what to do with her nine children, and looked far and wide for signs of willingness to help, Lady Ludlow sent her a letter, proffering aid and assistance. I see that letter now: a large sheet of thick yellow paper, with a straight broad margin left on the left-hand side of the delicate Italian writing,—writing which contained far more in the same space of paper than all the sloping, or masculine hand-writings of the present day. It was sealed with a coat of arms,—a lozenge,—for Lady Ludlow was a widow. My mother made us notice the motto, "Foy et Loy," and told us where to look for the quarterings of the Hanbury arms before she opened the letter. Indeed, I think she was rather afraid of what the contents might be; for, as I have said, in her anxious love for her fatherless children, she had written to many people upon whom, to tell truly, she had but little claim; and their cold, hard answers had many a time made her cry, when she thought none of us were looking. I do not even know if she had ever seen Lady Ludlow: all I knew of her was that she was a very grand lady, whose grandmother had been half-sister to my mother's great-grandmother; but of her character and circumstances I had heard nothing, and I doubt if my mother was acquainted with them." ............
"She had been maid of honour to Queen Charlotte: a Hanbury of that old stock that flourished in the days of the Plantagenets, and heiress of all the land that remained to the family, of the great estates which had once stretched into four separate counties. Hanbury Court was hers by right. She had married Lord Ludlow, and had lived for many years at his various seats, and away from her ancestral home. She had lost all her children but one, and most of them had died at these houses of Lord Ludlow's; and, I dare say, that gave my lady a distaste to the places, and a longing to come back to Hanbury Court, where she had been so happy as a girl. I imagine her girlhood had been the happiest time of her life; for, now I think of it, most of her opinions, when I knew her in later life, were singular enough then, but had been universally prevalent fifty years before. For instance, while I lived at Hanbury Court, the cry for education was beginning to come up: Mr. Raikes had set up his Sunday Schools; and some clergymen were all for teaching writing and arithmetic, as well as reading. My lady would have none of this; it was levelling and revolutionary, she said. When a young woman came to be hired, my lady would have her in, and see if she liked her looks and her dress, and question her about her family. Her ladyship laid great stress upon this latter point, saying that a girl who did not warm up when any interest or curiosity was expressed about her mother, or the "baby" (if there was one), was not likely to make a good servant. Then she would make her put out her feet, to see if they were well and neatly shod. Then she would bid her say the Lord's Prayer and the Creed. Then she inquired if she could write. If she could, and she had liked all that had gone before, her face sank—it was a great disappointment, for it was an all but inviolable rule with her never to engage a servant who could write. But I have known her ladyship break through it, although in both cases in which she did so she put the girl's principles to a further and unusual test in asking her to repeat the Ten Commandments. One pert young woman—and yet I was sorry for her too, only she afterwards married a rich draper in Shrewsbury—who had got through her trials pretty tolerably, considering she could write, spoilt all, by saying glibly, at the end of the last Commandment, "An't please your ladyship, I can cast accounts."
""Go away, wench," said my lady in a hurry, "you're only fit for trade; you will not suit me for a servant." The girl went away crestfallen: in a minute, however, my lady sent me after her to see that she had something to eat before leaving the house; and, indeed, she sent for her once again, but it was only to give her a Bible, and to bid her beware of French principles, which had led the French to cut off their king's and queen's heads.
"The poor, blubbering girl said, "Indeed, my lady, I wouldn't hurt a fly, much less a king, and I cannot abide the French, nor frogs neither, for that matter."
"But my lady was inexorable, and took a girl who could neither read nor write, to make up for her alarm about the progress of education towards addition and subtraction; and afterwards, when the clergyman who was at Hanbury parish when I came there, had died, and the bishop had appointed another, and a younger man, in his stead, this was one of the points on which he and my lady did not agree. ..."
" ... Mr. Gray preached a very rousing sermon, on the necessity of establishing a Sabbath-school in the village. My lady shut her eyes, and seemed to go to sleep; but I don't believe she lost a word of it, though she said nothing about it that I heard until the next Saturday, when two of us, as was the custom, were riding out with her in her carriage, and we went to see a poor bedridden woman, who lived some miles away at the other end of the estate and of the parish: and as we came out of the cottage we met Mr. Gray walking up to it, in a great heat, and looking very tired. My lady beckoned him to her, and told him she should wait and take him home with her, adding that she wondered to see him there, so far from his home, for that it was beyond a Sabbath-day's journey, and, from what she had gathered from his sermon the last Sunday, he was all for Judaism against Christianity. He looked as if he did not understand what she meant; but the truth was that, besides the way in which he had spoken up for schools and schooling, he had kept calling Sunday the Sabbath: and, as her ladyship said, "The Sabbath is the Sabbath, and that's one thing—it is Saturday; and if I keep it, I'm a Jew, which I'm not. And Sunday is Sunday; and that's another thing; and if I keep it, I'm a Christian, which I humbly trust I am."" ............
The author gets quite explicit about English or British - indeed, European - caste system, as firmly practiced in her day and prevalent for centuries, until - presumably - industrial era began to change things.
""And your ladyship really thinks that it would not be right to have a Sunday-school?" I asked, feeling very timid as I put time question.
""Certainly not. As I told Mr. Gray. I consider a knowledge of the Creed, and of the Lord's Prayer, as essential to salvation; and that any child may have, whose parents bring it regularly to church. Then there are the Ten Commandments, which teach simple duties in the plainest language. Of course, if a lad is taught to read and write (as that unfortunate boy has been who was here this morning) his duties become complicated, and his temptations much greater, while, at the same time, he has no hereditary principles and honourable training to serve as safeguards. I might take up my old simile of the race-horse and cart-horse. I am distressed," ..."
So much for pointing fingers at India for her caste system, or worse, the general identification of the very concept of caste system with India, and the pretence that such a social practice has been exclusively limited to India. This fraud perpetrated by colonial regimes and their religious institutions continues, despite every evidence to the contrary. ............
"When we were not with my lady, Mrs. Medlicott looked after us; a gentle little woman, who had been companion to my lady for many years, and was indeed, I have been told, some kind of relation to her. Mrs. Medlicott's parents had lived in Germany, and the consequence was, she spoke English with a ....
I have read this very slowly, mainly because it is a slowly moving book in which not a great deal happens! The book holds three stories of life among the aristocracy whose life consists of tea parties, talk of fashion, gossip the desirability or not of marriage and little else.They are written with gentle wit and the characters are drawn brilliantly. It made me aware of what a child of my time I am as the insufferable snobbery of the aristocracy and those from a "good family" really annoyed me,despite the fact I know it was a reflection of the attitudes of the time. It is said that Dickens,writing at a similar time, showed in his books, society as it truly was,warts and all and he in fact challenged the attitudes towards those of a different class. I wonder if Elizabeth Gaskell,in her own style is doing the same thing? She gently pokes fun at the snobs as the story unfolds and she portrays the characters who go against the status quo as rather more agreeable and understandable.Perhaps she was also reflecting a changing time where societies' long held and deeply ingrained structures were being questioned and shaken Each story is quite different so I will write a short account of each
Cranford A story of a largely female society in a small northern town. The story is character led and the reader can't help but become interested in these beautifully portrayed characters.Eccentric, overly dramatic but above all kind and loving towards each other, the ladies of Cranford touch our hearts.
Mr Harrison's confessions This is definitely the funniest of the stories.It tells of a new doctor arriving at another small town.He is a gentlemanly and honourable man although dull and stupid in his failure to see the romantic overtures of just about every young and old lady in the place.This specific blindness leads to a farcical set of events before The good doctor can settle with the lady he truly loved;the Vicars daughter.
My Lady Ludlow In reading a few reviews before starting the book I found that this one was often described as the least enjoyed and most boring of Gaskell's stories.However I'm not sure if it wasn't my favorite. It is mainly a description of the life and character of one Lady but shows the social history of the time very well and has a very interesting account of an attempted rescue of aristocracy from Paris during the French revolution.
I have given the book 3 stars;not as a reflection of my enjoyment.I liked it but didn't love it.It is well written and I can see why this classic is still popular today but to give it more than 3stars would be a disservice to those books I have given more to. If you enjoy social history I really reccommend it.
After seeing the PBS miniseries on "Cranford" I was excited to read the actual work by Gaskell. The first volume, "Mr Harrison's Confessions" was a delight. After that, I had to read the book in smaller chunks in volume 2, "Cranford," as the style didn't suit me, though wonderfully written. For those fans of the miniseries, the third volume, "My Lady Ludlow," is fascinating. I was glad to find out why Lady Ludlow didn't believe that her lessers should read.
A very lovely read, comprising three novellas/novels from perhaps the most underrated writer of Victorian-era Britain, Elizabeth Gaskell. It was my introduction to Gaskell’s work (special thanks to my old Goodreads pal, guguk, for bringing it to my attention), and having completed them, I can confidently say they're among the finest examples of slice-of-life novels I’ve ever read.
These are culturally significant stories with subversive social commentaries and particular attention to the marginalized group of society (single women in particular), highlighted by Gaskell's adeptness in building the setting and characters. She presented a world of tight-knit communities, where the people know, gossip about, and judge each other on daily basis. Above all, these are people who live together through the happiest and saddest times, who can also show the ability to grow and demonstrate extreme kindness to each other.
This book is light, funny, silly, and full of descriptions that you think are too long but really are not. Like watching a cute comedy! An old-fashioned drink or something you really enjoy. You want to sip it and read it slowly.
Delightful, right off the start. And it continues the delight, reaching a very satisfying state before long, with the innocence and goodness described.
"In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all the holders of houses above a certain rent are women. If a married couple come to settle in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is either fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the Cranford evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his regiment, his ship, or closely engaged in business all the week in the great neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, distant only twenty miles on a railroad. In short, whatever does become of the gentlemen, they are not at Cranford. What could they do if they were there? The surgeon has his round of thirty miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be a surgeon. For keeping the trim gardens full of choice flowers without a weed to speck them; for frightening away little boys who look wistfully at the said flowers through the railings; for rushing out at the geese that occasionally venture in to the gardens if the gates are left open; for deciding all questions of literature and politics without troubling themselves with unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear and correct knowledge of everybody's affairs in the parish; for keeping their neat maid-servants in admirable order; for kindness (somewhat dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender good offices to each other whenever they are in distress, the ladies of Cranford are quite sufficient. "A man," as one of them observed to me once, "is SO in the way in the house!" Although the ladies of Cranford know all each other's proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent to each other's opinions. Indeed, as each has her own individuality, not to say eccentricity, pretty strongly developed, nothing is so easy as verbal retaliation; but, somehow, good-will reigns among them to a considerable degree.
"The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little quarrel, spirited out in a few peppery words and angry jerks of the head; just enough to prevent the even tenor of their lives from becoming too flat. Their dress is very independent of fashion; as they observe, "What does it signify how we dress here at Cranford, where everybody knows us?" And if they go from home, their reason is equally cogent, "What does it signify how we dress here, where nobody knows us?" The materials of their clothes are, in general, good and plain, and most of them are nearly as scrupulous as Miss Tyler, of cleanly memory; but I will answer for it, the last gigot, the last tight and scanty petticoat in wear in England, was seen in Cranford—and seen without a smile."
The delight continues, even through tragedies, including deaths, with the author's turning most into the living characters overcoming them and going on to bloom again. The chapter about Miss Matty taking the visiting author's help to read and destroy old letters that belonged to her parents, is boring until there was a son born. Mrs Jenkyns then had another letter from her father.
"The kind old grandmother was dead when a little boy was born, soon after the publication of the sermon; but there was another letter of exhortation from the grandfather, more stringent and admonitory than ever, now that there was a boy to be guarded from the snares of the world. He described all the various sins into which men might fall, until I wondered how any man ever came to a natural death. The gallows seemed as if it must have been the termination of the lives of most of the grandfather's friends and acquaintance; and I was not surprised at the way in which he spoke of this life being "a vale of tears.""
Very very satisfying finale, too. ............
Mr. Harrison's Confession.
This one is in similar mode to other two works by the author that one just read, Wives And Daughters, and Cranford, in that it's set in a village somewhere in middle of England and deals with life and society of the village, chiefly populated by women unmarried or widowed, with a few families, as far as castes above those of farmers and traders go. This one is written from point of view of a young doctor, Harrison, who is just beginning in his profession, invited to live and work in Duncombe by the resident doctor there.
Quite hilarious, despite all the tragedies, anxieties and more. ............
My Lady Ludlow
The very beginning promises a delight as rich as the other three, unspoilt by the natural flow of life replete with various circumstances. But this one is different from others, and gives a harrowing tale from the French revolution.
"I am an old woman now, and things are very different to what they were in my youth. Then we, who travelled, travelled in coaches, carrying six inside, and making a two days' journey out of what people now go over in a couple of hours with a whizz and a flash, and a screaming whistle, enough to deafen one. Then letters came in but three times a week: indeed, in some places in Scotland where I have stayed when I was a girl, the post came in but once a month;—but letters were letters then; and we made great prizes of them, and read them and studied them like books. Now the post comes rattling in twice a day, bringing short jerky notes, some without beginning or end, but just a little sharp sentence, which well-bred folks would think too abrupt to be spoken. Well, well! they may all be improvements,—I dare say they are; but you will never meet with a Lady Ludlow in these days.
"I will try and tell you about her. It is no story: it has, as I said, neither beginning, middle, nor end.
"My father was a poor clergyman with a large family. My mother was always said to have good blood in her veins; and when she wanted to maintain her position with the people she was thrown among,—principally rich democratic manufacturers, all for liberty and the French Revolution,—she would put on a pair of ruffles, trimmed with real old English point, very much darned to be sure,—but which could not be bought new for love or money, as the art of making it was lost years before. These ruffles showed, as she said, that her ancestors had been Somebodies, when the grandfathers of the rich folk, who now looked down upon her, had been Nobodies,—if, indeed, they had any grandfathers at all. I don't know whether any one out of our own family ever noticed these ruffles,—but we were all taught as children to feel rather proud when my mother put them on, and to hold up our heads as became the descendants of the lady who had first possessed the lace. Not but what my dear father often told us that pride was a great sin; we were never allowed to be proud of anything but my mother's ruffles: and she was so innocently happy when she put them on,—often, poor dear creature, to a very worn and threadbare gown,—that I still think, even after all my experience of life, they were a blessing to the family. You will think that I am wandering away from my Lady Ludlow. Not at all. The Lady who had owned the lace, Ursula Hanbury, was a common ancestress of both my mother and my Lady Ludlow. And so it fell out, that when my poor father died, and my mother was sorely pressed to know what to do with her nine children, and looked far and wide for signs of willingness to help, Lady Ludlow sent her a letter, proffering aid and assistance. I see that letter now: a large sheet of thick yellow paper, with a straight broad margin left on the left-hand side of the delicate Italian writing,—writing which contained far more in the same space of paper than all the sloping, or masculine hand-writings of the present day. It was sealed with a coat of arms,—a lozenge,—for Lady Ludlow was a widow. My mother made us notice the motto, "Foy et Loy," and told us where to look for the quarterings of the Hanbury arms before she opened the letter. Indeed, I think she was rather afraid of what the contents might be; for, as I have said, in her anxious love for her fatherless children, she had written to many people upon whom, to tell truly, she had but little claim; and their cold, hard answers had many a time made her cry, when she thought none of us were looking. I do not even know if she had ever seen Lady Ludlow: all I knew of her was that she was a very grand lady, whose grandmother had been half-sister to my mother's great-grandmother; but of her character and circumstances I had heard nothing, and I doubt if my mother was acquainted with them." ............
"She had been maid of honour to Queen Charlotte: a Hanbury of that old stock that flourished in the days of the Plantagenets, and heiress of all the land that remained to the family, of the great estates which had once stretched into four separate counties. Hanbury Court was hers by right. She had married Lord Ludlow, and had lived for many years at his various seats, and away from her ancestral home. She had lost all her children but one, and most of them had died at these houses of Lord Ludlow's; and, I dare say, that gave my lady a distaste to the places, and a longing to come back to Hanbury Court, where she had been so happy as a girl. I imagine her girlhood had been the happiest time of her life; for, now I think of it, most of her opinions, when I knew her in later life, were singular enough then, but had been universally prevalent fifty years before. For instance, while I lived at Hanbury Court, the cry for education was beginning to come up: Mr. Raikes had set up his Sunday Schools; and some clergymen were all for teaching writing and arithmetic, as well as reading. My lady would have none of this; it was levelling and revolutionary, she said. When a young woman came to be hired, my lady would have her in, and see if she liked her looks and her dress, and question her about her family. Her ladyship laid great stress upon this latter point, saying that a girl who did not warm up when any interest or curiosity was expressed about her mother, or the "baby" (if there was one), was not likely to make a good servant. Then she would make her put out her feet, to see if they were well and neatly shod. Then she would bid her say the Lord's Prayer and the Creed. Then she inquired if she could write. If she could, and she had liked all that had gone before, her face sank—it was a great disappointment, for it was an all but inviolable rule with her never to engage a servant who could write. But I have known her ladyship break through it, although in both cases in which she did so she put the girl's principles to a further and unusual test in asking her to repeat the Ten Commandments. One pert young woman—and yet I was sorry for her too, only she afterwards married a rich draper in Shrewsbury—who had got through her trials pretty tolerably, considering she could write, spoilt all, by saying glibly, at the end of the last Commandment, "An't please your ladyship, I can cast accounts."
""Go away, wench," said my lady in a hurry, "you're only fit for trade; you will not suit me for a servant." The girl went away crestfallen: in a minute, however, my lady sent me after her to see that she had something to eat before leaving the house; and, indeed, she sent for her once again, but it was only to give her a Bible, and to bid her beware of French principles, which had led the French to cut off their king's and queen's heads.
"The poor, blubbering girl said, "Indeed, my lady, I wouldn't hurt a fly, much less a king, and I cannot abide the French, nor frogs neither, for that matter."
"But my lady was inexorable, and took a girl who could neither read nor write, to make up for her alarm about the progress of education towards addition and subtraction; and afterwards, when the clergyman who was at Hanbury parish when I came there, had died, and the bishop had appointed another, and a younger man, in his stead, this was one of the points on which he and my lady did not agree. ..."
" ... Mr. Gray preached a very rousing sermon, on the necessity of establishing a Sabbath-school in the village. My lady shut her eyes, and seemed to go to sleep; but I don't believe she lost a word of it, though she said nothing about it that I heard until the next Saturday, when two of us, as was the custom, were riding out with her in her carriage, and we went to see a poor bedridden woman, who lived some miles away at the other end of the estate and of the parish: and as we came out of the cottage we met Mr. Gray walking up to it, in a great heat, and looking very tired. My lady beckoned him to her, and told him she should wait and take him home with her, adding that she wondered to see him there, so far from his home, for that it was beyond a Sabbath-day's journey, and, from what she had gathered from his sermon the last Sunday, he was all for Judaism against Christianity. He looked as if he did not understand what she meant; but the truth was that, besides the way in which he had spoken up for schools and schooling, he had kept calling Sunday the Sabbath: and, as her ladyship said, "The Sabbath is the Sabbath, and that's one thing—it is Saturday; and if I keep it, I'm a Jew, which I'm not. And Sunday is Sunday; and that's another thing; and if I keep it, I'm a Christian, which I humbly trust I am."" ............
The author gets quite explicit about English or British - indeed, European - caste system, as firmly practiced in her day and prevalent for centuries, until - presumably - industrial era began to change things.
""And your ladyship really thinks that it would not be right to have a Sunday-school?" I asked, feeling very timid as I put time question.
""Certainly not. As I told Mr. Gray. I consider a knowledge of the Creed, and of the Lord's Prayer, as essential to salvation; and that any child may have, whose parents bring it regularly to church. Then there are the Ten Commandments, which teach simple duties in the plainest language. Of course, if a lad is taught to read and write (as that unfortunate boy has been who was here this morning) his duties become complicated, and his temptations much greater, while, at the same time, he has no hereditary principles and honourable training to serve as safeguards. I might take up my old simile of the race-horse and cart-horse. I am distressed," ..."
So much for pointing fingers at India for her caste system, or worse, the general identification of the very concept of caste system with India, and the pretence that such a social practice has been exclusively limited to India. This fraud perpetrated by colonial regimes and their religious institutions continues, despite every evidence to the contrary. ............
"When we were not with my lady, Mrs. Medlicott looked after us; a gentle little woman, who had been companion to my lady for many years, and was indeed, I have been told, some kind of relation to her. Mrs. Medlicott's parents had lived in Germany, and the consequence was, she spoke English with a ....
I am finally finished with this set of stories. It took me such a long time to get through. The Cranford story was a fun read, as was Mr. Harrison's Confessions, but My Lady Ludlow... that one just went on and on and I didn't have much sense of protagonist or villain or story arc. perhaps those aren't present in the Cranford story, either, now that I think about it.
I much prefer North and South, but will be giving Mary Barton a try at some point.
I read "Cranford" a couple of years ago. Liked it a lot, didn't feel quite finished. Saw the movie and said "Wow! that was great--but there was sure a lot in it I don't remember from the book!"
So, I was so excited to finally read what I thought was the "whole" book of Cranford life...as the title suggests.
Too bad, so sad. Most of the movie is actually taken from "Mr. Harrison's Confessions" and "My Lady Ludlow" and not "Cranford" at all--and they are all completely unrelated short novels. The first was hilarious, the second, fun, the third slightly nauseating, although it ended fairly well.
Nauseating because "My Lady" (Ludlow) happened to be, I guess, one of those relics of aristocrats who believed that educating the "lower classes" was an abomination "Why, they're as much different from us as a cart horse is from a [derby winner:]" and all sorts of rubbish like that. Gag. Well, she did learn condescend to learn and progress.
The narrator, Mr. Harrison, in the first book is wonderful, loveable and just so much fun.
The narrator in "Cranford" is cute, likeable, but not really all that engaging--just not really the center of the story enough.
In "My Lady Ludlow" she's non-existant--just a person who happens to hang out with My Lady. There's no reason to care about her at all--she's a non-entity. Which makes the novel harder than most to read--maybe just for me, though--I really like a great narrator.
All in all, a lovely set of books, "Mr. Harrison" by far the most fun. However, the movie was truly delightful (even with major liberties being taken from the story) and I thought the makers did a wonderful job of combining all three stories.
Since this is a collection, I'll judge each work separately:
Cranford and The Cage at Cranford
"Quaint" is the word that comes to mind. Gaskell documents the everyday gossip and troubles of a small town run almost entirely by women. She knows exactly where to find the ridiculous and the hysterical in their actions and speech, but never turns meanspirited. Above all, Gaskell shows herself to be incredibly fond of her characters and their disappearing lifestyle, and this warmth glows in every word on every page. I dare you not to want to give Miss Matty the biggest hug in the world, I dare you. Four stars!
Mr Harrison's Confessions
A short comedy of manners, nothing more and nothing less. A lovely bit of fluff to giggle over on the bus home. Three stars.
My Lady Ludlow
This is where the collection fell down for me. My Lady Ludlow is... A bit dull. The times, they are a-changin', and Lady Ludlow, who represents an old world order, need to change with them. She's an interesting character, but it's not enough to carry 200 pages, especially not the long story about her time in Paris in the middle. Two stars.
The Cranford Chronicles was the first book written by Elizabeth Gaskell that I read, and that only after watching the BBC series of the selfsame name. Ordinarily, when you watch the movie first the book simply appears as an echo of the former. However, despite knowing the secret of Miss Matty's romance and much else of the plot, the book was far from disappointing in terms of excitement. When Mr. Holbrook dies for instance, or when Sophy Hutton falls desperately ill, I was almost shocked, despite my knowing prior to opening the book that all this and more would happen. In fact I liked it so much that I went ahead and bought another novel penned by Gaskell- WIves and Daughters. However my feelings regarding that are part of another review...
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
For a classic book this was extremely easy to read although overall I found it a bit boring. This is actually 3 books, the first of which was ok but the story iteself was a bit silly. The second and third books didn't seem to have much of a story to them. Also the characters in all the books were different even though they were all based in Cranford.
Personally I couldn't wait to finish the book. I have read other classics in which the language (olde English) made it difficult to read but the books themselves has a lot more substance.
I definitely enjoyed this -- funny, witty, full of hilariously vivid old ladies with 19th century idiosyncrasies -- but the main story in CRANFORD just wasn't quite enough of a plot to bump it up to four stars. Glad I've now experienced Elizabeth Gaskell, however, and I wonder if NORTH AND SOUTH might have more of what I'm looking for...
This three-novella collection is based on three Gaskell stories that have been hammered together recently into a new TV show. They do not share characters or plots; what they have in common is basically a historical and social background. It is interesting to imagine the thought process behind their cobbling together. If one imagines Gaskell as a social commentator, a studier of human behaviour in a certain time and place, then the Cranford Chronicles becomes an revealing document. We are in rural England on the edge of industrialisation. Looking mainly through the eyes of independent women, widows and spinsters on the edge of the upper classes, we see a vision of England trembling with approaching change in social and gender roles. But as stories, all three of these novellas are a bit of a drag.
Mr Harrison's Confessions is the most palletable of the three for, while seemingly deceptively light reading, Gaskell's writing is actually dense, difficult and unstructured. The of the new doctor's arrival in a small town, his troubles and his friendships with the local inhabitants, his falling for a local girl and his accidently attracting the attentions of other town ladies who do not interest him, is a simple social romance with little to make it particularly memorable. Mr Harrison is portrayed as the innovator, the capable modern doctor, and the tension in the novella lies in his struggles to convince patients and the old doctor to use his more modern solutions. Logic and education prevail, all the misunderstanding are cleared up and the doctor gets the girl.
The others are more demanding. Cranford is a sprawling, diary-like piece narrating the fates of various female characters in the town through the eyes of a relatively uninvolved outsider. The plot is far from linear, not at all captivating or addictive. Yet the structure, slowly, allows Gaskell to capture something of the stagnant langour of this petrified small town. A sense of adventure sometimes threatens from outsider (the lost brother returning from India, the foreign magician's visit, the arrival of a Scotish noblewoman) but Gaskell's intentions are not dramatic. Excitement is in the small things. It is a strange, thoughtful and often dull novella.
My Lady Ludlow has a similar sprawling structure, but one that is easily to define and follow. A Russian doll narrative, it is narrated by a young girl who goes into the service of the estimed Lady Ludlow, a woman who has lost all but one of her children, but then delves into her voice as she tells the story of aristocratic French acquiantences who flee the Revolution in Paris. The narrative moves a level deeper again as the young French noble returns to Paris to bring his cousin home. These stories alone are more readable, with more of a nod to Shakespeare than to a social study. The French scenes read like a tragic play. Around it, however, come the social debates. They are much more clearly discussed than in the other two piece; central to the story is the disagreements between Lady Ludlow and the town priest on subject such as education of the lower classes. Interestingly the "tragedy" of the French escapade is blamed on a person of lower class being taught to read.
All three show society on the brink of change - characters like Mr Harrison and the priest pushing for changes, the shadow of the French revolution, while the ladies of Cranford and Lady Ludlow stand tall as stubborn defenders of the old way of doing things. Yet the Cranford women acts as quiet revolutionaries; the absence of male voices and of marriage as a narrative goal or reward makes them different from many of their fictional contemporaries. There is a subtle sense of the absurb, especially in Cranford, that echoes twentieth century comic writers. Gaskell is quietly sarcastic and self-mocking; the writer as profession is also mocked as unwomanly. She is an intelligent writer with an ambitious social project to her stories but as narrative entertainment only My Lady Ludlow had me really interested and that only midly. 3
THE CRANFORD CHRONICLES consists of three novellas: Mr. Harrison's Confessions, Cranford and My Lady Ludlow. For the excellent TV mini series, these three stories were woven together.
Gaskell depicts with humour and wit an idealised community, where women, their needs and their feelings, occupy a central role and men, a peripheral one. It is a detailed portrait of small town life, including the silly, amusing ways in which people behave. There is also a depiction of the problem of ageing and some of the hardest things of getting old such as looking at times past with limited choices looking forward. But mostly, it is about the interdependence of people and the life in a closely knit community.
MR. HARRISON'S CONFESSIONS is the story of a young doctor lured to a rural English village by the promise of a partnership in a country practice. Dr Harrison soon finds himself trapped in a claustrophobic town ruled by somewhat silly, gossipy middle aged women. It is a witty comedy of manners, full of misunderstandings and gentle humour.
CRANFORD follows the lives of a group of upper middle class women, who live in "elegant economy" and who are obsessed with lace and the latest gossip, in the small fictional town of Cranford. The creation of a railway line nearby threatens to destabilise these ladies' comfortable routines of needlework, afternoon calls, evening tea parties and card playing. Mary Smith, the narrator, tells a quaint and nostalgic story, constantly aware that the life she describes will soon disappear in a rapidly changing society. There is exquisite humour, particularly in portraying how people treat their beloved animals.
LADY LUDLOW, the final novella (and the longest one), is the story of an aristocrat who seems to be holding on to a former way of life, resisting the changes that come with modernity. She is kind hearted and well intentioned, however snobbish and elitist she may seem to be. Among the many things she abhors is the idea that lower classes should receive any education. Eventually, of course, she will change her ideas. There is a long, drawn out story about her aristocratic French friends and how they suffered during the French Revolution. This part really dragged on far too long (and not surprisingly, this episode was left out of the TV series).
THE CRANFORD CHRONICLES is a light hearted, entertaining read, possibly not Gaskell's best but still worthwhile for its social commentary and compassionate humour.
this is a collection of 3 Gaskell's novelas. The first two, Mr Harrison's Confessions and Cranford were superb. The characters were engaging and humorous, and Gaskell is a master at depicting the ambiance of a small 19th century village, with its quirky characters and tea cup dramas(Well, mini-dramas, as they were, since nothing truly dramatic happens). The last novella, My Lady Ludlow, was somewhat of a letdown, especially after my enjoyment of the first two works. The writing style is still beautiful, but the tone is much more subdued. The narrator is even more of a non-character, but that wouldn't have been such a problem if Lady Ludlow herself was more engaging. But she has far too much gravitas to be endearing and it's difficult to sympathize with a character that even by the standards of the early 19th century would have been considered old fashion. A fairly large chunk of the story is a retelling by Lady Ludlow herself of her second hand experience of the French revolution, and I am sorry to say that actually put me to sleep.
My first thought when I finished this book: Finally!
Since this is essentially three books in one, I'm going to discuss each novella separately. The three stars I'm giving here is the average for the three.
"Mr. Harrison's Confessions" is light and silly, with a story that moves fast enough to make for enjoyable reading. "Cranford" is much slower with no discernable plot but the characters are sweet and keep the reader's attention. "My Lady Ludlow" dragged, and was unfortunately the longest of the three. The only reason why I didn't give up on it was sheer stubbornness and not feeling annoyed at any of the characters. I usually stop reading when the characters annoy me (looking at you, Pip), and that lack of annoyances is what spares this whole book from getting two stars.
As it is, the BBC adaptation is far more enjoyable, though I won't give up on Gaskell yet. I still need to read "North and South", which, as friends have assured me, is far better.
I really did not enjoy this book. It is an extremely slow moving and it took me awhile to get through it. This book contains three stories that take place in the English countryside. The author documents the lives of a small town and all the gossiping that occurs there.
I did like the portrayal of the small English town and the variety of characters that live there. However, overall I didn't really enjoy this book. I have heard that Gaskell's other novels are more enjoyable than this one so I will be picking them up in the future. I feel that this book was unnecessarily long as I felt that very little happened.