Musings on a Snow Day

The view from my window as
 I attempted to drive to work

We have a snow day today, an occurrence which, though frequent in my hometown of Blackfoot, Idaho, is more rare here in Eugene.  The snow started sometime around midnight and has continued to softly but continuously dust the trees, hills, and houses with white powder.  The world outside is quiet, unusually hushed by the presence of snow.  I confess that I hate snow--I hate the cold, I hate how it leaves the once-green world brown in its aftermath, and I hate how dangerous it makes the roads.  But from my spot, curled up on the couch with coffee in hand and the curtains pulled back so I can see the snowglobe vista outside, I enchanted with the winter wonderland outside.

I am also grateful for the snow day because it means that as I continue reading The Riddle of the Sands, I can keep my laptop open and ready for notes, rather than scribbling my ideas on napkins and old receipts that I shove into pockets or the black hole that is my purse.  It also means that I can read for long lengths of time, rather than sneaking in five or six pages on my work breaks and during lunch.

As I have confessed that I dislike snow, I must now add a second confession: I love everything British.  I love English accents, I love their at-once old fashioned and yet modern system of governance (the maintenance of a monarchy alongside their Parliament), I love their teas, I love the way they add a “u” to words like color and favorite.*  I am fascinated by British culture and British history--I could go on for days on the importance of the British monarchy and its influence on America and American law, or on the truly intriguing evolution of culture and attitude that transformed inhabitants of England from being “English” to being “British.”  In short, I am an anglophile. 

Webster's Dictionary
Noah Webster was the revolutionary
patriot who sought to distinguish
American English from proper
English

*Along with several other subtle distinctions, the “u” was intentionally dropped from particular words like color and favorite not long after we ceased to be British-America, as a way to distinguish the British from the American.  I find this historical tidbit fascinating.  As a child, though, I spent a year in Ireland and to this day I struggle to remember if it’s favorite or favourite, realize or realise.

This is, in large part, why I am so thoroughly loving The Riddle of the Sands--because it is so delightfully British.  In my last post I tried to qualify this assessment, but I find it difficult.  Both Davies and Carruthers have habits and mannerisms that set them apart as particularly British (as opposed to American or even ambiguously European).  Their speech is peppered with stereotypically English phrases like “I say” and “old chap,” but more than that, it’s their attitude that marks them as British.  The story’s plot is driven by their outrage that Herr Dollmann, an Englishman, would betray king and country to become a spy for Germany.  Davies’ feelings are understandable, particularly once one takes into account the time period (this was published in 1903) and the increasingly tense political climate throughout Europe.  While Davies and Carruthers seem to correctly sense that war is inevitable, they bear no ill will towards Germany, and, in fact, Davies holds some level of admiration for the German Emperor Wilhelm II.  Nor do they direct any outrage towards Germany for hiring spies and for secretly amassing naval power; instead, their anger is directed solely at Dollmann for turning his back on England and spying for another country.    Both men are infuriated at the thought of an Englishman betraying his own country.  Their duty, as Englishmen, is to expose Dollmann and prepare Britain for war.  Above all, this constant awareness of themselves as Englishmen (and their similar villainization of Dollmann the Traitor) is what makes Davies and Carruthers so decidedly British.  

I find this inherent British-ness charming.  Davies and Carruthers are rallied by a love of “King and Country.”  Disregarding their own safety, these two men are compelled to brave the harsh seas to unmask Dollmann; they are transformed by  patriotism from two yachting enthusiasts into bona fide spies, and I find myself swept up in their patriotic fervor.  As much as I adore this American republic with its three branches of government and its delightful system of checks and balances, we lack such a stirring cry as “For King and Country.”  “For Congress and Country” just doesn’t have the same ring.

I also find the British nature of this novel rather ironic.  Though born in England, Erskine Childers is best known for his involvement with the nascent Irish Republican Army, a body which was inherently and unmistakably anti-British.  This involvement with the Irish Free State movement, of course, came later in Childers’ life, and over a lifetime a person’s political views are likely to change.  All the same, though, it’s ironic that the same man who published this charmingly British novel was later executed for being too radically Irish. 

*****

The sun is shining now, so I must turn away from my musings to move to a spot where I may read in the sun and enjoy both this momentary break in snow showers and my thoroughly wonderful book.

The Riddle of the Sands

Erskine Childers, The Riddle of the Sands (London: Penguin Books, 1952).

I am about 90 pages into The Riddle of the Sands and, thus far, I love it.  Childers writes with a easy, laid back tone.  His descriptions and characterizations are so well developed that, from page one, I’ve become engulfed, completely drawn in and enthralled by the story.

The consummate English
gentlemen (though a bit more
 formal than I picture our heroes

The story is narrated by Carruthers, a young Englishman who, bored by a dull season in London, accepts an invitation from an old friend to go yachting in the Baltic Sea.  Though I admit that I have limited knowledge of British gentlemen from the late nineteenth/early twentieth century, Carruthers fits all my notions.  He is an affable character--smart, pleasantly sardonic, and he is refreshingly honest, particularly when addressing his own thoughts and emotions.  Carruthers instantly likeable; he is easygoing and observes things with a keen and perceptive eye.  His observations are phrased with such frank honesty and overt irony that one cannot help but like him; on the first page he dryly compares his solitude in London to a sort of martyrdom and goes on to (correctly) observe that to feel oneself a martyr is a pleasurable thing.  Carruthers, though a bit immature at times, is capable of recognizing his own weaknesses and makes no move to hide them.

The other main character is Carruthers’ old school friend Davies.  Where Carruthers is likeable for his witty and keen observations, Davies is thoroughly loveable for his idiosyncrasies and his perpetual good mood.  Davies refuses to be affected by Carruthers’ initial bad moods, and quickly charms both Carruther and reader with his jovial nature and his delightful penchant for throwing items overboard.  Like Carruthers, Davies is quintessentially British with his “I says” and “old chaps” and his dogged determination to observe as many gentile practices as possible (like always washing up before dinner).  Davies and Carruthers both maintain such a genuine geniality that they seem as perfectly British as Austen’s Charles Bingley or Oscar Wilde’s Earnest Worthing that it is almost jarring to remember that they’re on a boat.  One can as easily picture these two characters in a smoky club, savoring their brandy and cigars, as picture them cramped and (I think) somewhat uncomfortable on their miniature yacht. 

A map of the Baltic Sea Region,
the area Carruthers and Davies
set out to explore

Childers’ descriptions of his characters, though, pales in comparison with the passages in which he (as Carruthers) describes the various aspects of their adventure.  Childers’ prose is so vivid and so beautifully phrased that one can easily picture the aquamarine waters, one can feel the soft rich sands of the ocean floor and can revel in the beauty of the summer sun beaming over a calm ocean.  His passages are rich in detail and are punctuated with beautiful turns of phrase. I can completely relate when he writes of the “unique exultation” that follows a day of hard work, “when, glowing all over, deliciously tired and pleasantly sore, you eat what seems ambrosia, be it only tinned beef; and drink nectar, be it only distilled from terrestrial hops or coffee berries, and inhale as culminating luxury balmy fumes which even the happy Homeric gods knew naught of.” (Childers, 54).  Not only can I relate, but I relive those glorious moments.  Childers’ passages flow easily, effortlessly, and I have found myself just breezing through the novel.

The one drawback is Childers’ attention to nautical terms and activities.  This is an inevitable aspect when a novel is set on any type of seafaring craft, and is a particular danger when the author has spent any significant time as a sailor.  Childers, with his background in sailing, devotes some attention to various activities on deck--jibing and folding sails, etc.  It appears, though, that Childers was aware that not all of his readers would possess a knowledge of sailing, and so when Davies discusses (or carries out) these activities, they are met by Carruthers with a sense of bewilderment; at one amusing point Carruthers even dismisses all Davies’ nautical jargon.  While the reader may not appreciate all the technicalities that Childers includes, therefore, she can definitely appreciate the author’s awareness and his sense of humor.

At page 90, I have now just entered the real heart of the story: Davies has revealed to Carruthers that he believes the Germans are developing naval strength and that the safety of the British Empire depends on these two gentlemen discovering (and later relating) as much as they can.  I have enjoyed the exposition and rising action, and I am excited for the real action to begin.

More soon.

The Riddle of the Sands, by Erskine Childers

After much deliberation, a prolonged perusal of dust jacket summaries, and a snap judgment of cover art (yes, I do judge my books by their covers, but I am willing to admit when I judge too hastily), I have picked my next book.  According to The Times, as quoted on the front cover, The Riddle of the Sands by Erskine Childers is “The first and best of spy stories.”  The back cover promises a story of youth and adventure, espionage, and the fate of the British Empire.  In many ways it sounds strikingly similar to an arguably more well known spy novel, The Thirty-Nine Steps by John Buchan.  This is of particular interest to me because I studied the early modern mystery and thriller in British literature and I also studied the impact the Great War had on modern literature.  The Thirty-Nine Steps fell into both genres of study, so I have read The Thirty-Nine Steps a couple of times--as a casual reader and as a scholar.   I am, therefore, quite interested to see how Erskine’s spy novel compares to Buchan’s.

Childers had experience with sailing,
and I expect that his experiences
helped to shape the novel

I confess to holding a second reason for being drawn to this novel.  According to my internet searches, Erskine Childers was an Irish nationalist who was executed during the Irish Civil War.  Although I spent the last two years of my life formally studying Constitutional history and Supreme Court decisions, American history is not my only passion.  I have also spent several years casually studying Irish history, studying the Irish Nationalist movement in particular.  Childers’ politics, his connection to other Irish Republicans like Michael Collins and Eamon de Valera, and his role in this fascinating period of Irish history appeals to me.  Although this novel was written before Childers was an ardent supporter of Irish Home Rule, my curiosity is piqued, so now I will leave the relatively tranquil world of Trollope’s Victorian England for the excitement and fast pace of a pre-World War I spy thriller.