They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

I have to say, I'm not sure I understood this book as fully as I might have liked to. Despite the fact that the storytelling ability of Horace McCoy is not at all to be called into question, I do think he might have explained the story further instead of leaving it up to the reader's imagination, because if a perfectly structured story is left up to the imagination, it starts to crumble to pieces.

The setting of a marathon dance competition was effective and thoroughly creative, in my opinion. It outlined the difficulties in the character Gloria's life; when someone is put under continuous strain and physical endurance, they start to reveal facts about themselves to absolute strangers that they wouldn't have done in another situation. We soon see that Gloria is intensely suicidal, and has been considering it for some time. Maybe suicide was written about so much because it had previously been a slightly taboo subject, and as soon as the bars were lifted on it, previously unheard and suppressed views flooded out into the world of print publication. In any case, it is a main feature of the novel and calls up questions in the reader's mind about your own state of happiness, and how on earth anyone could be driven to such lengths as to kill themselves?

The reason I don't feel the book is fully explained is that I didn't feel that it built up enough to the climax of the story; there was too little time and a same-y sort of feel in between the time where we first meet each of our characters and when the major event happens (I shall not reveal what it is, because that would be telling, obviously), which left me feeling unsatisfied and incredibly confused. I like a bigger change in atmosphere when it comes to a sudden event, and, for me, there wasn't a big enough change.

Nevertheless, I liked the book intensely, in spite of its minor flaws, and finished it in a matter of hours! Next I shall be reading It's A Battlefield, by Graham Greene, so look out for further updates!

David Copperfield

I know I say this every time, but I don't know whether or not I have read a more enjoyable book than this one. It wasn't just the fantastic characters or the brilliant story that made it so unbelievable (although they were equally as important) but it was the undying humour throughout the whole book that caught my attention.

In terms of the characters, the one I both loathed and adored was the infamous Uriah Heep. The infinite cries of "because I am a very umble being, Master Copperfield" are, it comes to pass, a facade put on in his intelligence to lull the reader into a false sense of so-called security; all is dropped when Mr Micawber gathers up enough courage to condemn the villain - HEEP, and in a moment of violence and anger, Uriah Heep loses all sense of rationality and snaps. Much to the reader's shock and pleasure (for it means there shall be extra excitement and fun for us in terms of plot) we see how mercilessly he has fooled us into believing he really is "umble", when he is in fact, towards the end of the book and nearing the time of his demise, much more in possession of worldly goods than he cares to let on in order to keep them flowing in. He barbarically decieves his partner, Mr Wickfield, so far that poor Mr Wickfield becomes almost fatally ill; we can see how far the influence of Uriah Heep has taken hold of him only when he is gone, when his very disposition is altered for the better, his illness clears up, and he begins to be much like his old self once again. The small details in Uriah Heep's personality, such as his writhing, and his slimy skin, recommends himself in one's mind to be much akin to some sort of horrific reptile or sea creature of some sort. He present himself to the reader as a force to be reckoned with, and with every writhe or glint of the snaky red eyes "like glaring red suns" we begin to subconsciously hate him, and every effort David Copperfield makes against him gladdens our hearts. One event of the sort was when Copperfield gave Heep a massive whack in the jaw. My heart leapt when I read it, hoping against hope that Heep would take offense and storm out of the house, never to be seen again. Much to my disgust and annoyance, he only forgave Copperfield, saying that he knew his tempers to be a little high tonight, and it was probably to do with the port he drank at dinner. Sticking true to Oscar Wilde's famous advice "always forgive your enemies-nothing annoys them so much". It is true; from the time that we meet Heep we are put against him and made to become his enemies with no more power than that of words and a good bit of decent storytelling. Which, I can assure you, is no bad thing once you get to know his true character.

The dear and darling Dora Splenlow captures our hero's heart, though certainly not mine. He falls in love with her at a dinner party; I am happy for Copperfield that he has finally found someone to love who is within his grasp, but do truly doubt his choice. She is a silly, immature, dithering sort of a girl, though with some credit to her, does love David with all her heart. I, for one, cannot stand her. All the petting and attention she recieves is better spent elsewhere, and her absolute refusal to keep accounts or learn to cook for practicality's sake is pure nonsense. I felt  ecstatic that Copperfield had finally found and engaged someone who he could love and cherish, though not necessarily to rely upon, as he comes to realise later on in the book. Her utter uselessness is exasperating to him, as several domestic crises occur in a very short space of time. He sees that he is the only one with a clear head on his shoulders, apart from his beloved and somewhat stalwart aunt, and utterly deplores the fact that Dora cannot think of anything but her pet dog Jip, or how to keep her "Doady" (some distortion of David, as Dickins cleverly names it) happy and content. Altogether, she may be quite pathetic and stupidly exasperating, but we cannot help, like our hero, becoming very much attached to the poor thing.

Overall, it was a marvellous book with the quality of writing flawless, as was the deep characterisation and plot; I was thoroughly exasperated when it was over and quite stuck as to what to do afterwards! Next I shall be reading They Shoot Horses, Don't They? by Horace McCoy.