Well, if you’ve
loved reading Byatt’s Possession,
then this one’s for you as well!
It’s a lovely 2008
novel titled, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society written by Mary
Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows!
A novel that –
much like Possession – is made up entirely
of letters and letters and letters!
Whereas Byatt’s Possession has been a single-author’s
creation, this one’s by a duo!
Added, in Byatt,
you’ve got a great overflowing love for words! Sample this –
Christabel
LaMotte says in her letter to Ash,
Words have been
all my life, all my life - this need is like the Spider’s need who carries
before her a huge Burden of Silk which she must spin out - the silk is her
life, her home, her safety - her food and drink too - and if it is attacked or
pulled down, why, what can she do but make more, spin afresh, design anew!
Replace ‘Words’
with ‘Books’ and you have the Guernsey
Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society!
As simple as
that!
And what’s more?
-
You don’t have
the scholarly encodings and decodings and the resultant quests that are staple
to Byatt’s Possession anywhere over here!
;-)
In fact, what
lends the Guernsey Society its added
charm is its simply lovely bubbly plot!
There is a dash
and sprinkle of all high-renowned Victorian characters strewn all over the
novel!
Set against the
backdrop of World War II, when London is slowly stepping out of the gory
effects of the war, the novel narrates the story of a writer by name Miss
Juliet Ashton (reminded of Possession here?) who is on the hunt for
a good subject for her next book!
The story as I
see it –
A young lady
[Miss Juliet Ashton] who also doubles up as a literary being, gets to know
about a Reading Society in a faraway island – Guernsey - a lovely-o-lovely, lush
green sylvan island!
By a fortuitous
coincidence perhaps, this young lady’s [Miss Juliet Ashton] copy of Charles
Lamb’s Essays of Elia gets into the
hands of a handsome ‘Guernsey’ guy, who’s also member of this Reading Club aka
Literary Society in the lovely island of Guernsey!
Miss Juliet, the vibrant
literary being that she is, eagerly catches up on news about this Guernsey
Literary Society – officially called the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie
Society! ;-)
She braves all
odds (and even her fiancé) to meet up with the members of the Guernsey Literary
Society! And hey presto! Without prior notice, she arrives one fine morning in
the island and…
The rest is for y’all
to read and to enjoy over a cuppa coffee! ;-)
There are a host
of things that one would sure love about this delightful unputdownable read!
For one, the
lovely delightful quotes that make the reading such an engaging exercise!
Sample these –
What is the matter with me? Am I too particular? I
don't want to be married just to be married. I can't think of anything lonelier
than spending the rest of my life with someone I can't talk to, or worse,
someone I can't be silent with.
In the meantime, will you accept this small gift from
me? It is his Selected Letters. I think it will tell you more about him than any
biography ever could. E. V. Lucas sounds too stately to include my favorite
passage from Lamb. I find my moral sense in the last stage of a consumption and
my religion getting faint.
While there, Lamb helped Hunt paint the ceiling of his
cell sky blue with white clouds. Next they painted a rose trellis up one wall.
Then, I further discovered, Lamb offered money to help Hunt's family outside
the prison.
Though he himself was as poor as a man could be. Lamb
also taught Hunt's youngest daughter to say the Lord's Prayer backward. You
naturally want to learn everything you can about a man like that.
That's what I love about reading: one tiny thing will
interest you in a book, and that tiny thing will lead you onto another book,
and another bit there will lead you onto a third book. It's geometrically
progressive! All with no end in sight, and for no other reason than sheer
enjoyment.
I no longer live on Oakley Street, but I'm so glad that
your letter found me and that my book found you. It was a sad wrench to part
with the Selected Essays of Elia. I had two copies and a dire need of
shelf-room, but I felt like a traitor selling it. You have soothed my
conscience.
I wonder how the book got to Guernsey? Perhaps there is
some secret sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect
readers. How delightful if that were true. ;-)
Emily had to make Heathcliff up out of thin air! And
what a fine job she did. Men are more interesting in books than they are in
real life. ;-)
Amelia told us you would like to know about our book
society and what we talk about at our meetings. I gave a talk on the Bronte
girls once when it was my turn to speak. I'm sorry I can't send you my notes on
Charlotte and Emily.
I used them to kindle a fire in my cookstove, there
being no other paper in the house.
Think of it! We could have gone on longing for one another
and pretending not to notice forever. This obsession with dignity can ruin your
life if you let it.
After all, what's good
enough for Jane Austen ought to be good enough for anyone. But it's a lie. The
story is about to begin, and every day will be a new piece of the plot.
Excuse my unburdening myself. My worries travel about
my head on their well-worn path, and it is a relief to put them on paper. I
will turn to more cheerful subjects such as last evening's meeting of the
Society.
None of us had any experience with literary societies,
so we made our own rules: we took turns speaking about the books we'd read.
At the start, we tried to be calm and objective, but
that soon fell away, and the purpose of the speakers was to goad the listeners
into wanting to read the book themselves.
Once two members had read the same book, they could
argue, which was our great delight. We read books, talked books, argued over
books, and became dearer and dearer to one another.
Other Islanders asked to join us, and our evenings
together became bright, lively times we could almost forget, now and then, the
darkness outside. We still meet every fortnight.
For instance, they were always changing curfew. Eight
at night, or nine, or five in the evening if they felt really mean-minded. You
couldn't visit your friends or even tend your stock. We started out hopeful,
sure they'd be gone in six months. But it stretched on and on. Food grew hard
to come by, and soon there was no firewood left.
Days were grey with hard work and evenings were black
with boredom. Everyone was sickly from so little nourishment and bleak from
wondering if it would ever end.
We clung to books and to our friends; they reminded us
that we had another part to us. Elizabeth used to say a poem. I don't remember
all of it, but it began. Is it so small a thing to have enjoyed the sun, to
have lived light in the spring, to have loved, to have thought, to have done,
to have advanced true friends.
Lots more of
lovely lines and quotable quotes are there on this lovely read for us to taste
and to digest!
So why wait dear
gentle reader?
Grab your copy
asap!
If possible,
right away! ;-)
Happy reading to you!
image: amazondotcom