Gone With the Wind
Nov. 10th, 2008 05:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stephbgThe 1939 film adaptation of Margaret Mitchell's 1936 novel Gone With the Wind is rightly famous as an epic. For all its near 4 hour running time (depending on edition), I remember being surprised at how well the time flowed, and how gripping it was. I honestly had no idea where it was going, but was keen to find out. I only saw the film in its entirety only a year or two ago; today I finished the 1011 page book. Or it finished me. I am blind, but in a good way.
It's a splendiferously written book, for all its outward camouflage of bodice-ripping airport novel trashiness. Although I knew it had won the Pulitzer Prize before I began, I've been so crushed by the appalling quality of non-genre popular fiction *cough*DaVinciCode*cough* that I went in with relatively low expectations. Well, I was Wrong. It's as well written as it could be.
For one thing, it did a wonderful job of an important theme dear to my heart: War Is Stupid.
Following on from this, I am frankly amazed that there is such a thing as the United States at all. The Civil War was not that long ago, and the war and its aftermath were nasty. So much more going on than the end of slavery, and there haven't been nearly enough generations since to repair all sorts of long-term damage.
Crazy Americans aside, the book was full of fascinating insights into an incredidibly constrained society, and its reactions to apocalypse and the post-apocalyptic rise. The characterisations were great, and the feel for setting was vivid. The heavily accented Negro patois was difficult to read, and I found I had to sound it out phoenetically, but once I got the hang of it it flowed more naturally. The main (white upperclass) characters were not accented, but it would have made the read a terrible slog if they'd been given the same treatment.
Yes, I sometimes wanted to strangle Scarlett. Yes, I frequently wanted to slap Ashley. And Melly (kinda). And Prissy (absolutely). And Aunt Pitty (not really worth the effort) et al. Rhett, well, Rhett could go bodice-ripping any time *blush*. Poor Rhett. There I go, sympathising with the predators again. So evil, but phwoar.
Like the film I couldn't wait to see where the novel would go, and I'd forgotten a lot of the detail from the film so it wasn't too spoilerish. I admit that towards the end I tired of some of the rollercoaster ride, but that probably had more to do with me wanting to push on to the end. When a book's over a thousand pages long, "I'm nearly finished" means 100 or more densely printed pages. And I so wanted a particular happy ending :-(
So go, read it. Shoo.
EDIT: Just out of curiosity, who's actually read it?
It's a splendiferously written book, for all its outward camouflage of bodice-ripping airport novel trashiness. Although I knew it had won the Pulitzer Prize before I began, I've been so crushed by the appalling quality of non-genre popular fiction *cough*DaVinciCode*cough* that I went in with relatively low expectations. Well, I was Wrong. It's as well written as it could be.
For one thing, it did a wonderful job of an important theme dear to my heart: War Is Stupid.
Following on from this, I am frankly amazed that there is such a thing as the United States at all. The Civil War was not that long ago, and the war and its aftermath were nasty. So much more going on than the end of slavery, and there haven't been nearly enough generations since to repair all sorts of long-term damage.
Crazy Americans aside, the book was full of fascinating insights into an incredidibly constrained society, and its reactions to apocalypse and the post-apocalyptic rise. The characterisations were great, and the feel for setting was vivid. The heavily accented Negro patois was difficult to read, and I found I had to sound it out phoenetically, but once I got the hang of it it flowed more naturally. The main (white upperclass) characters were not accented, but it would have made the read a terrible slog if they'd been given the same treatment.
Yes, I sometimes wanted to strangle Scarlett. Yes, I frequently wanted to slap Ashley. And Melly (kinda). And Prissy (absolutely). And Aunt Pitty (not really worth the effort) et al. Rhett, well, Rhett could go bodice-ripping any time *blush*. Poor Rhett. There I go, sympathising with the predators again. So evil, but phwoar.
Like the film I couldn't wait to see where the novel would go, and I'd forgotten a lot of the detail from the film so it wasn't too spoilerish. I admit that towards the end I tired of some of the rollercoaster ride, but that probably had more to do with me wanting to push on to the end. When a book's over a thousand pages long, "I'm nearly finished" means 100 or more densely printed pages. And I so wanted a particular happy ending :-(
So go, read it. Shoo.
EDIT: Just out of curiosity, who's actually read it?
