Of Corelli's Mandolin and Animal Farm

Two books I’ve just finished reading very recently, and two books I have mixed feelings about. The first I started reading about 8 days ago, found the beginning a little dry but nonetheless gave the plot a little time to bloom before I contemplated casting it into the furnace, and on reflection I’m glad I did. I’m always suspicious when I hear about a book being declared a “modern classic” because that usually means there’s going to be a lot of undertones and allusions and secret messages, etc.

But I, being the devilishly handsome and charitable guy that I am, gave it a whirl and, tantamount to my suspicions, the book left me feeling slightly empty and with a quizzical look ‘pon my face. It’s like being fed a great meal free of charge (or 80p, to be exact), only to discover that after you’ve downed the last bite, a bitter, metallic aftertaste sets in.

So let’s bring all and sundry up to speed. Corelli’s Mandolin centres predominantly around Pelagia, a young, beautiful Grecian woman living with her father, the prestigious Dr. Iannis, in their modest house on the Ionian island of Cephalonia. Set just before the start of the Italian and German occupation of the island during World War 2, the unusually well-education Pelagia finds herself infatuated with local illiterate fisherman Mandras who, in an effort to prove himself worthy of her love, runs off to fight in the war where he serves as what I might describe as a partisan-cum-mercenary.

Meanwhile, the jovial Captain Antonio Corelli arrives as part of the infamous Acqui Division and is billeted in Dr. Iannis’ house where, after some subtle but non-resistant inhospitality and aggression, the two parties eventually come to gradually respect each other. Inevitably, Pelagia and Antonio fall in love against the backdrop of a war that’s slowly coming closer to home, culminating with the ruthless, coincidental and áromantic machinations of both the Nazis and the oppressing hand of fate.

The chronology is mostly linear, with occasional dips into the past via the letters of Carlo, apparently the lovechild of Goliath and Athena, whose hulking corpus of manly flesh somewhat ironically desires that of a homogenous mate. The narrative focuses mainly on Pelagia from the third-person omnipresent perspective, although occasionally the scene shifts to Antonio, Dr. Iannis, Mandras, the Nazis, and one particularly concise entry by the forlorn Pelagia in the first-person.

I have to say, I was very impressed by the book, what with the exuberant use of language that at times felt like sucking on a sweet made out of pure sugar and Prozac and the message it brings across. And then I got to the end.

You see, Mr. De Bee (as you shall be known in this address), not only does the ending of your book conform to that of a pseudo-Shakespearian tragedy, but it is pointless, unnecessary and the slightest bit far-fetched. I firmly believe that it’s not what written that counts, it’s what’s read, and what I chose to do was, after finishing the last 50 pages of the book, crack a mallet against my skull and immediately forget them. That way I could make up a much better ending. I’ll also have you know that I have no intention of reading Birds Without Wings.


Now, Animal Farm. I actually had to keep a pan by my side as I was reading this book to stop all the excess irony and satire from dripping onto the floor. A novel which, if you know the history, pretty much just depicts the Stalinist movement throughout the late 1920s and early ‘30s, but does it in a way so apt and with such good narrative that you can’t help but love it. Plus it has anthropomorphised farm animals, which amused me to no end :).

I won’t go too much into the plot on this one because it’s only 100 pages long, and if you really can’t be assed to read something that short, you probably wouldn’t even be reading this right now. One thing I do love however is how the “government” manipulates language to suit its purpose and how the subtle changes it introduces over time turns society into what the populace were originally rebelling against in the first place, albeit with a much harsher régime in power now.

It shows how easily the commonfolk can be deceived, taken advantage of and basically used by the totalitarian government in charge (perhaps foreshadowing Orwell’s later magnum opus Nineteen Eighty-Four). A very good read for any young Anarchist, or perhaps just someone who likes to read good books. In other words, probably about 23% of the general population.

I would go onto rant about how books have been somewhat neglected as a medium in recent years, outside of schools and workplaces, and supplanted as a means of popular entertainment by obtuse and plentiful television claptrap, but the Jeremy Kyle Show’s on.

I wonder if being a hypocrite is in itself a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy if you’re karma levels are gear towards the negative side. I mean, look at “family values” Republicans. Maybe I should go out, smash a brick through the window of an orphanage and declare that I’ll remain chaste until I’m married.