Por mais que as minhas estantes se encham de policiais, thrillers e livros sombrios, há um outro género que desencadeou em mim a paixão pela leitura – a literatura clássica. Foi nas histórias escritas em língua inglesa, por autores como Mary Shelley ou Edgar Allan Poe, que descobri o encanto do Romantismo Literário e explorei a literatura, século XIX adentro. Contudo, nunca senti tal fascínio pelos escritores portugueses da mesma época. Isto é, até ao Verão deste funesto ano de 2020, quando decidi mergulhar nas obras de Júlio Dinis. Não tinha espectativas altas. Ouvira já os seus enredos descritos como “piroseiras”, a escrita “enfadonha”, de um sentimentalismo e moralismo que pouco apela aos leitores de séculos posteriores. Mas surpreendi-me. Redescobri a magia dos clássicos com “Uma Família Inglesa”, passando depois para “As Pupilas do Senhor Reitor” – ambos fenomenais. Tratando-se Júlio Dinis de um autor cuja produção literária se deu nas décadas de 1860 e 1870, as suas obras situam-se num momento de transição entre movimentos artísticos. Quebrava-se então a fantasia do Romantismo, marcada por nomes como Alexandre Herculano ou Camilo Castelo Branco, e a corrente Realista caia como que um balde de água fria nos círculos literários da época. Dinis consegue, assim, estabelecer uma ponte entre ideais de relação agreste. Entra aqui em ação a sua tendência para a “piroseira”, para os sermões e amores de perdição que tanta náusea causam ao leitor moderno, acompanhada pelo bom senso, por uma voz cautelosa, não desprovida de todo do dom da sátira. Foi este o primeiro aspeto a cativar-me nas histórias acima mencionadas. Qualquer idealista, destinado à desilusão, beneficiaria desta narração serena e objetiva, mas sensível às fraquezas da imaginação. Não faltam momentos líricos, cheios de descrições e atos comoventes. Ocorre, no entanto, que em vez de atingirmos um clímax marcado por desonra, morte ou blasfémia, consideradas pelos realistas como repercussões fatídicas do sentimentalismo, os textos de Júlio Dinis vão adquirindo um sabor agridoce, até chegarmos a satisfatórias resoluções. Não recorre, portanto, ao choque para cativar o leitor, utilizando em vez disso a familiaridade das emoções e comportamentos. Um outro aspeto que não posso deixar de salientar é a riqueza dos cenários que nestas obras nos são apresentados. Pelas suas próprias vivências, o autor foca-se no mundo rural, nas relações de vizinhança e nos costumes tradicionais do Portugal do século XIX. Por mais que desconheça pessoalmente a cidade invicta ou as aldeias pitorescas da região Norte, há paisagens e noções sociais que, para além de características a este país à beira mar plantado, nos são intemporais. A minha próxima leitura? “A Morgadinha dos Canaviais”, com a qual planeio terminar o verão. Tomo os encantos de Júlio Dinis como lição para não subestimar autores portugueses e para melhor explorar a vastidão de obras ora-não-tão-populares que fui negligenciado ao longo dos anos. Não escondo, como aqui se evidencia, a minha preferência por determinadas correntes e recursos narrativos, mas reconheço nos autores nacionais uma renovada excelência.
0 Comentários
No que diz respeito a diários de guerra, o de Carry Ulreich é a mais recente novidade nas livrarias portuguesas. A sobrevivente do Holocausto encontrou em sua casa os diários que manteve durante a adolescência em plena Segunda Guerra Mundial. Com quase noventa anos e encorajada pela família, decidiu publicá-los em 2016 sob o título De Noite Sonho Com a Paz.
Obviamente, este não é o único testemunho de uma jovem judia a ser publicado. De facto, é inevitável associar a obra a outros nomes e publicações que registaram e imortalizaram as palavras e experiências daqueles que viveram os horrores da guerra. No entanto, e na minha opinião, torna-se contraproducente comparar ou hierarquizar testemunhos, uma vez que é a individualidade de cada uma destas vivências que nos oferece uma perspetiva Humana daquilo que hoje consideramos “História”. No caso de De Noite Sonho com a Paz, a singularidade do texto provém da própria autora e das suas circunstâncias. Durante o período relatado no diário, Carry é uma adolescente judia natural da cidade de Roterdão, então ocupada pelos Nazis. Para além de estar intimamente ligada à religião e às tradições hebraicas, a jovem faz questão de partilhar e registar este aspeto da sua vida, permitindo assim ao leitor uma familiarização com as práticas e com o quotidiano da comunidade judaica na Holanda. Simultaneamente, Ulreich assume-se como sionista logo nas primeiras páginas - “Paz” e “Palestina” surgem praticamente enquanto sinónimos, como se de um sonho ou de uma utopia se tratassem. Carry foi uma das pioneiras na defesa do sionismo, agindo ativamente na divulgação da ideologia na sua comunidade. À luz dos conflitos atualmente vividos no médio oriente, esta característica torna, a meu ver, o livro ainda mais interessante. Nós, leitores, podemos criar as nossas próprias conclusões e suposições, mas o que aqui se imortaliza são as palavras da autora; entre elas, uma passagem que me marcou especialmente: "Um dia, quando houver um Estado judaico na Palestina, se obrigarmos os árabes a andar com um cartaz a dizer 'árabe', nós, judeus, é que nos devemos envergonhar, e não os árabes” Posteriormente, surgem-nos relatos da vida na clandestinidade. Com a crescente opressão infligida pelos ocupantes nazis, a família Ulreich é forçada a esconder-se para poder sobreviver. Carry, os seus pais e a sua irmã Rachel passam então a viver com os Zijlmans, uma família católica que decide acolhê-los em casa. É aí que é escrita a maior parte dos cadernos, nos quais se relata o medo de possíveis denúncias, a frustração de não poder sair e ir à escola, a iminência dos bombardeamentos, a aflição por amigos e familiares deportados, a solidão, e as confissões de uma adolescência atormentada. Se é certo que a jovem se encontrou numa situação privilegiada por não ter sido separada da família, por não ter sofrido com a fome e os horrores da Holanda ocupada, e por ter vivido com os que lhe eram mais próximos a alegria da libertação, coisas que a própria reconhece em várias entradas, devo também dizer que os seus relatos me deram uma maior consciência do meu privilégio, e do quão frágil este realmente é. Devo ainda acrescentar que algo que torna este livro ainda mais especial é a disponibilidade da autora para partilhar aquilo que lhe ia na cabeça e no coração. Não se resguarda de expressar as suas incertezas em relação ao futuro, de chamar nomes aos nazis e aos seus simpatizantes, de falar de temas íntimos, como paixonetas e menstruações atribuladas, e de confessar os seus próprios dilemas e desgostos – em suma, não se trata de um discurso filtrado. Com minuciosos detalhes, são ainda relatados os processos de ocupação e de libertação da Europa no decorrer do conflito, e as implicações que estes tiveram para combatentes e civis que se viram implicados numa serie de crises e calamidades. É entre factos e desabafos que transparece o íntimo de uma adolescente privada da sua juventude pelo ódio e pela guerra, e é através desses pareceres que o leitor deve olhar o passado - não como um ciclo finito, mas como uma lição deixada por aqueles que o viveram. Sete décadas após a rendição, os diários de Carry Ulreich permanecem (talvez ainda mais) relevantes. It was one uneventful Friday afternoon when, after watching the 2011 movie starring Michael Fassbender and Mia Wasikowska, I ventured into my high school’s library on a quest to find Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. Tragically, it was unavailable. The only novel they had under that surname was Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. In a motion of defeat, I threw the worn copy into my backpack and went home feeling like I had settled for something I didn’t want. But by Sunday night, I had read that book from start to finish. It became a new obsession – I kept a list of my favourite quotes, had Kate Bush’s homonymous song on repeat for a week, and went as far as changing my Tumblr dot com username to ‘isabella-linton´ in honour of my favourite character. You could say I was lured in by the eerie ambience, ideal for cosy November nights reading to the sound of persistent rain, as well as by the breath-taking scenery. It was through Emily’s timeless words that I came to meet and visualise the northern windy moors, which I imagined as a surreal, dreamy landscape. I found myself transported to an almost other-worldly place where I felt miniscule but whole. Yet, it was the intrigues, the forbidden loves, and the flowing chronologies, which put me off at first with their complexity, that kept me invested in the story. It’s often said that Wuthering Heights is a matter of ‘love it or hate it’. People either praise and defend it wholeheartedly, or they develop a lifelong aversion to the novel. The latter attitude is usually justified with criticism towards the dislikeable protagonists, the tangled family trees, the toxic relationships, or even asphyxiating romance. And while I understand these claims, I must argue that it’s those morally questionable plots and characterizations that make it so interesting to me. You can’t help but to feel hatred, pain, grief, anger, and betrayal along with the characters. Even if you despise everything that’s happening with the narrative, you can’t deny that the writing is powerful enough to convey an emotionally charged story. It strays from the bland realism and the overwhelmingly whimsical tales that outline traditional storytelling, only to combine their best elements in a variety of plots that transcend generations. Now, if you objectively ask me what I found so special about this novel, the answer will be that it was one of the first classics I ever read. It showed me that a genre that I deemed boring and uninteresting at the time could be as exhilarating as any other. I fell in love with classic English literature, and from there I moved on to reading Shelley, Stroker, Dickens, Conan Doyle, and so many other authors that I now consider to be among my favourites. Wuthering Heights was more than a thrilling read. It is an unforgettable work that presented me to my favourite genre – gothic fiction. My understanding of literature was shaped by this book, and it became the standard, a sort of measure unit, I use to evaluate and search for new stories to fall in love with. Despite being known and celebrated for her mind-boggling plots and complex murder mysteries, Agatha Christie’s success should also be linked to her two most iconic protagonists – Hercule Poirot and Jane Marple. While Poirot was introduced to the public in 1920, Miss Marple’s debut as an amateur detective only takes place ten years later, in the 1930 novel The Murder at the Vicarage. Although this wasn’t the first Marple story I’ve read, it sure is one of the most acclaimed volumes, and seemingly worth a read. For more information about the plot, a summary can be found, as always, at agathachristie.com.
Anyone who murdered Colonel Protheroe,’ declared the parson, brandishing a carving knife above a joint of roast beef, ‘would be doing the world at large a favour!’ It was a careless remark for a man of the cloth. And one which was to come back and haunt the clergyman just a few hours later – when the colonel was found shot dead in the clergyman’s study. But as Miss Marple soon discovers, the whole village seems to have had a motive to kill Colonel Protheroe. Now, as I’ve mentioned before, I don’t tend to read Christie chronologically. Therefore, this book introduced me to a character I had already encountered. But I find that only made it more interesting. The narrator of the story is the vicar himself, and it is through him that the reader becomes acquainted with the sleepy village of St. Mary’s Mead, its inhabitants, and the murder that takes place among them. Hence the author introduces us to the protagonist through the lens of a “next door neighbour” who is deeply involved in the crime – considering it occurred in his own house, as he turns to Marple for help. It was endearing to read Miss Marple described as the local attentive spinster who is always on the lookout for the hottest gossip, but I also think this approach took too much of the spotlight away from her. We take so much time trying to process all the clues, personalities, locations, and subplots that we end up not focusing on anything. There is so much happening in this first person narrative that it becomes hard to be invested in any of it. I would say that threw me off for a while, as didn’t especially care for any of the characters or intrigues, and at a certain point my read was solely driven by curiosity - which I guess can be the downside of detective novels. Still, take my opinion with a grain of salt. It is no secret that I tend to prefer either Christie’s bolder and more exciting stories, featuring extraordinary settings and action-filled plots, or her family dramas. Yet, the author is equally applauded and praised for her intricate, mind-boggling murder mysteries that take place in quiet and mundane scenarios; the type that requires attention and close examination of each character’s nature. And that, dear reader, I promise you will find in The Murder at the Vicarage. Although it may seem like an eternity away, not so long ago I was an awkward ten-year-old rushing to my grandpa’s after school. Those were afternoons of freedom, a time when I could enjoy the comfort of familiarity and recover from the torture that was middle school. I used to hide in the living room with the TV on and a book on my lap. There was always something different happening on the screen – Buffy, Bones, American Dad, The Simpsons; which, in retrospective, were definitely not age appropriate. But the book was always the same, The Diary of Anne Frank.
I had first heard the name Anne Frank in Portuguese class, where we used to read parts of her diary without much context to it. I don’t actually remember getting the book, but I know it was always there at the centre table waiting for me to come home to its words. Back then, I didn’t entirely understand the meaning behind the novel. I couldn’t grasp the vileness of the Holocaust and the suffering associated with it. Of course, coming from a Jewish background, I knew of its importance, and I knew it was the consequence of deplorable acts. To me it was an acquired fact that Anne had been a brave girl who had lived through something horrible. But I couldn’t understand it. Can anyone, still? However, it wasn’t necessarily that Anne I came home every afternoon to read about. It was a girl who, like me, was still learning about the world, and about herself as well. The way she expressed her interests, her passion for writing, her relationship with her family, her discovery of sexuality, her friendships, her feelings; I could empathize with that. I couldn’t relate to her experiences or circumstances, but when I felt sad or preoccupied, when I faced pain or fear, I turned to her words. Because what better place to find courage and inspiration? I must have read some of the chapters dozens of times, perhaps hundreds. For years I saw Anne Frank as the figure of a distant friend. Then, as time went by, I stopped going to my grandpa’s in the afternoons. I studied the novel in more detail. I studied History in more detail. I learned more about the Holocaust and read other testimonies. I got old enough to understand the horrors of war, the realities of those who lived before us, the corruption and depravity of mankind. And I did so with that girl I had grown up with always in the back of my mind. When I was fifteen my dad took me to Amsterdam, and the Anne Frank house was a must-go. I waited in line, I looked at the building and the ones surrounding it, I walked through its halls. I ran my hands through the door jams and laid eyes on her bedroom wall, still with the pictures she put up there. I looked at the faded pictures of those who shared the annex, with the names I knew so well. I looked at the original diary, at Anne’s calligraphy and at the scribbled pages. Afterwards, I visited the Dutch National Holocaust Museum. I still own the original book I read in my early teens. It’s all yellow, and bent, and stiff, and tucked away in one of my shelves. I haven’t opened it since it left my grandpa’s centre table. I have another edition as well, an English version, that I bought at the Anne Frank Foundation, but I didn’t make it past the first chapters. This already intrinsically emotional read has been fermenting in my heart, and each word comes with strange but powerful feelings of pain, astonishment, loss, and longing. While I consider it to be a part of myself, it’s one I find hard to revisit. I would say The Diary of Anne Frank is a book that guided me through the rough process of growing up, and assertively shaped my values and beliefs. While small in size, it’s a heavy yet necessary read with undeniable literary value. It was in the midst of loneliness and teenage sorrows that, in a far too distant hot summer, I discovered the world of Harry Potter. I don’t quite remember how it started, but I guess I woke up one day with a quest – to read those seven novels in record time. You see, I was unbelievably late to the Potter party, and was already in my teens when I started reading the books. Therefore, I never got to experience the anticipation, the midnight releases, the movie screenings, the thrill of not knowing where the story is taking you. I only had a general idea of the plot and a second-hand account of the impact it caused on my generation through the obsessive Tumblr posts of 2011.
Nevertheless, that was the most immersive August of my life. Not even the suffocating heat could pull me out of that otherworldly universe I had so recently discovered. Picture this: an awkward, anxious girl with maybe a friend and a half, locked in her room for the holidays, discovering a whole other life, a magical world, and an entirely new bunch of characters that somehow felt like friends to her. I was hooked. In a week, give or take, I devoured all the novels and marathoned the movies by myself. And instead of the usual emptiness that comes after finishing a new series, I was left with a community of fellow fans where content and artwork were never lacking. Fast-forward a year and I visited London for the first time. It was a thrilling trip, but there was one thing in particular that I was looking forward to, The Warner Bros Studio Tour. My memories of the visit consist only in small fragments of the exhibition and in a lingering feeling of joy. But there was one special moment that stuck with me. As you follow the tour, you eventually find yourself in a room with a decently sized model of Hogwarts and the Hedwig theme softly playing in the background. I was caught by surprise when tears started pouring down and I had to hold in a whole emotional meltdown because, as cheese as it may sound, it did feel like Hogwarts was there to welcome me home. Nowadays, my relationship with the Wizarding World is a lot more complex. Firstly, I started reading more critically, and I no longer see the Harry Potter books as the absolute literary masterpieces I once thought them to be. And then there’s the fact that J.K Rowling became the epitome of Death of the Author to me, and I’m not very comfortable with the path her franchise took in more recent years. Yet, in spite of all of that, this is a story that no one can take away from me; from any of us. Whenever I find myself in a dark state of mind, caused by physical or mental illness; when I feel lost or lonely, I still turn to the magic of Harry Potter. More than entertainment, these stories offer me comfort, reassurance, a place to turn to when real life gets too disconcerting. I think it’s time to face reality and admit that I’m a book snob. There, I said it! No matter how good an adaptation may be, I will always point out the flaws in the movie, TV show, play, whatever it is. Comparing the original works with their various artistic interpretations is inevitable, but I always find myself being sceptical and overcritical. Still, there are some rare occasions when I’ll watch a movie and recognize that it’s just as good as its book counterpart. Or even rarer, I will be so blown away that I might admit it completely surpassed the novel.
Since it’s about time I stop being such a pretentious reader, I decided to elaborate a list of the books made into movies that I enjoyed the most. So here it goes, in no particular order: My Top 5 Book-to-Film Adaptations. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2014) Out of the eight movies that adapted JK Rowling’s Harry Potter series, this one stands out to me as a work of art. It takes the best lines and elements of the books and translates them to the screen with breath-taking cinematography, incredible acting, an otherworldly soundtrack, and an outstanding job from the costume department. Alfonso Cuarón did in this movie what is always so hard to accomplish – immerse the viewer in the magic of a universe already introduced by the original story, while allowing vision and creativity to let the adaptation stand on its own as an art piece. Brooklyn (2015) Colm Toíbín’s book strikes you with its authenticity; with the detail and accuracy of its portrayal of an immigrant’s reality in 1950s America. John Crowley’s film, however, is a much more touching and empathetic version of the exact same story. This is only heightened by Saoirse Ronan’s performance, which brought the protagonist to life. I can easily say this is one of my all-time favourite movies, and one that has me bawling my eyes out every single time. The acting, the cast, the sceneries, the costumes, the dialogue – it all takes you back in time and finds a way to resonate with you, even if you don’t particularly relate to the narrative. Coming of age, romantic drama, historical fiction… Brooklyn tries to be so much at the same time and still succeeds at all of it. Jane Eyre (2011) I can’t help but to think that the Brontë sisters unknowingly sabotaged the entire film industry. Adaptations of their novels are always either terribly overdramatized or incredibly boring. They tend to overcompensate the long introspective moments and complex chronologies that work so well in the originals with some nice cinematography to distract the audience from the lack of action until the next piece of dialogue. Perhaps some books are meant to remain as written works. Nonetheless, I find Cary Fukanaga’s Jane Eyre to be an exception, and I think the acting is what stands out. Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender were the perfect choice for the main roles, and to this day they’re still the faces that come to mind when I think of Jane and Mr. Rochester. They both did an unbelievable job and emoted so flawlessly throughout those slow-paced moments that you find yourself intrigued rather than bored. Coraline (2009) I watched Henry Selick’s Coraline when I was just ten, and only in my teenage years did I find out that there was a book behind it. By then, I already thought of it as the best animated movie in history, but reading the original novel only came to confirm it. I don’t think any other media could’ve done Neil Gaiman’s work justice. The 3D stop-motion made the already chilling story even more gruesome, and yet still appealing to a young audience. Funny enough, I didn’t find it even a bit scary when I was young, but now I wouldn’t have a problem with putting it in the “horror” category. There is a magic to this movie, and more than that, there is art to it. The care and dedication that were put into its production is unreal, and every little detail is worth admiration. Atonement (2007) I only watched this movie recently, after having already gone through Ian McEwan’s novel. While I did enjoy it, I must say it was the most depressing, anxiety-inducing piece of literature I have ever read. Even in the first chapters, when I didn’t know about the events about to unfold, I felt a sense of inevitability and a bleak ambience that didn’t let me read for long periods of time without feeling uncomfortable. Of course, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If anything, it’s a particularity of McEwan’s writing that definitely went along with the plot. But in Joe Wright’s movie, I found those dispiriting elements turned into drama, romance, action, and anticipation. It’s no wonder it turned into an iconic film with an iconic cast with iconic costumes. Keira Knightley standing by the gate with her emerald green dress while Robbie (James McAvoy) is taken away is a scene engraved in my mind, and in everyone else’s too, I suspect. Agatha Christie was especially prolific during WWII, with 11 books published between 1939 and 1945. Nevertheless, she did not often use war as a recurring literary theme like so many of her contemporary artists did. More often than not, the only indicators of a conflict taking place at the time are occasional references hidden in dialogue that are used merely for contextualization. N or M?, published in 1941, is the exception.
This is the second installment of the Tommy and Tuppence series, which is starred by an adventurous couple of amateur detectives who find themselves in the most extraordinary secret affairs. As usual, the book summary can be found at agathachristie.com. It is World War II, and while the RAF struggles to keep the Luftwaffe at bay, Britain faces an even more sinister threat from ‘the enemy within’ – Nazis posing as ordinary citizens. With pressure mounting, the Intelligence service appoints two unlikely spies, Tommy and Tuppence Beresford. Their mission: to seek out a man and a woman from among the colourful guests at Sans Souci, a seaside hotel. But this assignment is no stroll along the promenade. After all, N and M have just murdered Britain’s finest agent. In this novel, the protagonists we first got to know in 1922’s Secret Adversary as two daring youngsters are now middle-aged parents who are no longer characterized by the recklessness of their youth. Still, the chemistry and bold dynamics between the two remain present; and they’re as entertaining as ever. If anything, it’s rewarding for the reader to see these beloved characters grow and mature throughout the many stories that show us little snippets of their lives. Besides, I would say this book manages to incorporate some of the best aspects of Christie’s writing. With a tale of espionage taking place in a remote hotel, it has the audacious tone of her earlier writing and the dreary, secluded ambiance that captivated readers in her most celebrated classics. And that’s not even the most special part. Agatha managed to perfectly capture the atmosphere of fear and tension that was so present in England in the early 1940s. The author took a literary picture per se of the conflicts that emerged between and within people at the time due to the much bigger war that was spreading throughout the world. From the mothers and the ex soldiers, to the foreigners and refugees – this novel shows us life as it resumed away from the front lines, and in the eyes of those who were but passive elements. But what particularly caught my eye was that Christie took a very different approach to her own writing in order to properly capture the social paradigm. Per example, it’s no secret that this author tends to introduce foreigners in her stories with a certain degree of prejudice. Poirot, her most well-known character - who happens to be a Belgian refugee, could be excluded from this, since it was considered patriotic on Britain’s part to welcome these expatriates during the first war. While our favorite detective might be peculiar in his ways and sometimes laughed at, he is in no way confined or limited by his situation. Oppositely, she often introduces us to caricaturized representations of untrustworthy, problematic or money hungry Russians, Germans, Greeks, Americans, Jews, and Arabs. Therefore, I was interested in the way she talks about those who fled their own countries, then under nazi rule, in search for the safety of unoccupied Britain. It’s in the shape of German, Polish and Irish refugees that Christie finds ways to make some social commentary and perhaps share some of her own thoughts on the situation. These characters, seen as a threat to national safety, a Trojan horse for the enemy to infiltrate amongst the allies, are a picture of the real individuals who were then looked down upon with mistrust. And doesn’t this still sound familiar? You can easily establish a parallel between what you could perhaps call a historical record made by a contemporary author translated into fiction, and the way refugees are still seen today, more so than ever due to the migrant crisis. Sadly, some things don’t seem to ever change, and we could learn some lessons from a mere crime novel. Of course, the stereotypes remain. I wouldn’t call this a revolutionary change of perspective where taboos and prejudiced conceptions are reformed. What seems to change is the way they are approached and proven right or wrong as the plot unfolds, instead of remaining a constant unidimensional element of the story. Writing wise, I think the text stands out as well. Agatha gives us a lot more insightful moments and introspections than she does in her usual objective, straight to the point narratives. But without overdoing it either! She brought a new concept to her own style which, while maybe not intentional, stood out to me as a fan. Besides, I think the clues to whom the guilty are appear very well laid out, and the resolution to the mystery is accessible to any reader. What could be more rewarding than to guess the murderer by yourself? I would say N or M? is one of Christie’s must reads, and one that captures the essence of her many facets, as well as a more innovative, historic outlook that makes it timeless. Even if you’re not familiar with the Tommy and Tuppence series, this novel works just as well as a standalone. Back in 10th grade I was assigned Sense and Sensibility for our semi-annual reading project. It was my first contact with Jane Austen, but I can’t say it was particularly enjoyable. I had barely made it to chapter four when I decided to look up a summary on Wikipedia and call it a day.
Nevertheless, it was also around that time that I became aware of the hype surrounding Joe Wright’s Pride and Prejudice with Keira Knightly, which I desperately wanted to be a part of. And while I adored the movie, its book counterpart got nothing but painful attempts on my part. This became a pattern as years went by. I gradually fell in love with classic literature, but when it came to Austen I would be enamoured by the concept of her stories but could never go through with reading them. That changed last week, as motivation came out of thin air, and I decided to dive into Persuasion. If nothing else, I would at least come to peace with the fact that Austen just isn’t for me. Choosing the novel didn’t bear much thought - I settled for the first recommendation I was given. But lo and behold, it was the perfect pick for me. From the long-lost lovers trope to a Cinderella-like protagonist, it had all the right elements to persuade me (excuse the pun) to finally take pleasure in reading this author. And surely enough, it did. I laughed and I cried as the story moved forward, I was blown away by the writer’s beautiful passages, some even worth the reader’s most unforgivable crime- highlighting; and I was on the edge of my seat as the plot reached its climax. However, I’m not sure it completely converted me to the Austen lifestyle. The reasons why Sense and Sensibility didn’t thrill me in the first place are also what kept me from fully enjoying this earlier novel. In short, it’s a matter of preference. I tend to enjoy gloomier, more descriptive works, and while this one does get quite melancholic at times, it’s not necessarily what I’m used to reading. Besides, there was a very clear division between “start, middle, and end”, in this story at least, and I was very tempted to give up half way through because of how slow paced it felt . Still, I don’t want my opinion to come across as negative criticism. I did enjoy the book, and finally understood the frenzy surrounding this author. In her own words and perspective, she immortalized women’s feelings and experiences in such a timeless way that young girls still see themselves in these characters today. I felt that way about Anne, Mary, Louisa or even Elizabeth, to a degree. Besides, it’s impossible not to swoon over the romantic gestures or the satisfaction of watching dishonesty and corruption be punished by the course of life itself. Jane Austen manages a moral, optimistic take on romantic tales without overdoing any of those concepts; and while I might not adore the execution myself, I can definitely appreciate the construction. Agatha Christie’s novels have been adapted for the screen and the stage countless times, to the point where plays like The Mousetrap and Witness for the Persecution can still be seen in London, and movies such as Murder in the Orient Express and the upcoming Death in the Nile indicate the author’s prevailing influence is big Hollywood productions. However, it is incredibly hard for me to find an adaptation that perfectly captures and conveys the ambience of the original stories. So, I’ve come to realise that it might be more effective to judge these works based on how entertaining and evolving they are rather than on their faithfulness to the book counterparts. With this in mind, and considering I’m not lucky enough to have seen one of her plays, I’ve come up with a list of what I consider to be my favourite Christie adaptations on screen.
5. And Then There Were None (2015, BBC miniseries) This is the perfect example of an adaptation that doesn’t excel through faithfulness. There are many plot points that are altered and dramatized for the sake of entertainment, sometimes compromising the characterization or the atmosphere. Still, it succeeded at its main goal, which is to beguile the public. I binged the entire series in a single night and was blown away by the performances. Charles Dance, in particular, brought judge Wargrave to life and flawlessly embodied the idea I had of his character. 4. And Then There Were None (1945, film) As Agatha’s best-selling novel, it only makes sense for And Then There Were None to stand out in other mediums as well. While this version isn’t the most accurate either, with some dramatic changes of the final twist, it easily captures the audience’s attention with its vintage charm. Besides, it doesn’t take itself too seriously and the unsettling atmosphere built by the author is replaced with an amusing scenery that might get some laughs out of the modern public. 3. Death in the Nile (1978, film) The novel itself was a charismatic piece of fiction, and this movie remarkably brought that to life. While I think it will satisfy even the pickiest of book snobs, it’s so well executed that it could equally stand on its own as a cinematic piece. However, I do think part of the magic comes from the superb cast – Maggie Smith, Bette Davis, Angela Lansbury and Peter Ustinov brought their characters to life, and I struggle to imagine anyone else in these roles. While Ustinov isn’t how I envisioned Hercule Poirot, his work was memorable and holds a very dear place in my heart. 2. A Murder is Announced (2004-2013, Agatha Christie’s Marple TV Series) When I put “A Murder is Announced” in second place on the list, I could just as easily put the entire show. Agatha Christie’s Marple makes an intimate adaptation in the sense that it perfectly captures the small town feeling that’s so characteristic of Miss Marple novels. Some episodes are more dynamic than others, and I find that a few of them might be more enjoyable to book lovers than to the casual viewer. Still, Geraldine McEwan made the perfect miss Marple in performance and essence, and will always be held dear by the public. 1. A Murder in the Orient Express (1989-2013, Agatha Christie’s Poirot TV Series) Just as previously, this place could include the entire show. Most of Poirot’s investigations are adapted for the screen in Agatha Christie’s Poirot, each of them with an episode of their own and with David Suchet portraying the Belgian detective. To me, this is the ideal Poirot and the perfect rendition of the original novels. Instead of moving chronologically, all stories take place in 1933, giving the show a consistent ambience that almost perfectly matches the one built by the author in her works. While you should obviously watch the show in its entirety, A Murder in the Orient Express approaches one of Christie’s most well-known classics with a sensational cast that brings the story to life without avoidable overdramatizations or unnecessary changes. |