The Middle Parts of Fortune - Frederick Manning

Frederick Manning – The Middle Parts of Fortune (1929)
Novel – 250 pages – my edition (Penguin paperback; 1990) scooped from the Plymouth MDEC “library” sometime in 2004
- 4 nods out of 5 -

For all Worms out there, reading and hoarding books, there are those few volumes we grapple at with the view to devour one day, in the not so distance future. Yet, there are some of those books that slip through the net: perhaps that new Bill Bryson is out on sale, perhaps the book has managed to find itself in wrongful storage. But that aim lingers on, that some day it shall be read.

This is the story of Frederick Manning’s The Middle Parts of Fortune. The Worm scooped this book as a “freebie” from his workplace many years ago; impressed with the Penguin edition’s promise it was amongst the canon of ‘twentieth century classics’. Yet, for a modern classic, not much is known about either the book or its author.

For the record, The Middle Parts of Fortune is a story set in the First World War, principally following the life of Private Bourne. Reluctant to take a place amongst the commanding elite, yet obviously too brilliant amongst the lower ranks, Bourne is a friend to all and fiend to life in the trenches. It is loosely based upon Manning’s own time in the Great War. An Australian by birth, he fought in the war and this book – his only known novel – was written in reaction to it. Originally published anonymously (it became notorious for its use of foul – yet realistic – language), it was hailed by the likes of Hemingway, T.S. Eliot, T.E. Lawrence and scores of critics ever since. An impressive array of supporters, indeed!

This novel is a difficult read. Not only is it dense in military terminology, it also quotes widely from Shakespeare. At its core is the pursuit of honesty. Manning’s novel is at home in the naturalistic stream of literature; although Bourne is at odds with his surroundings, he can never escape his inevitable fate.

‘And then, one by one, they realized that each must go alone, and that each of them already was alone with himself, helping the others perhaps, but looking at them with strange eyes, while the world became unreal and empty, and they moved in a mystery, where no help was.’ (p.209-210).

The Middle Parts of Fortune follows in the tradition of Stephen Crane’s The Red Badge of Courage; the same road later authors would trample down, including Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. And true to life, throughout much of the book’s pages nothing much of particular note happens. It is the usual routine, with Bourne and his two fellow friends trying to make the best of their situation. Admittedly, the story lags; yet Manning has an ace up his sleeve…

Hemingway is quoted as having read Manning’s novel once a year, regarding it as ‘the finest and noblest book of men in war that I have ever read’. And such a statement is justified and compounded in Chapter Sixteen; perhaps the most striking and evocative war writing the Worm has had the pleasure to feast upon. A chapter in which Bourne is flung into the horrors of the frontline, ‘struggling through the mud like flies through treacle’ (p.215). It is the chapter that defines The Middle Parts of Fortune, taking its place as a modern classic. The only misfortune on the Worm’s behalf was the time it took to finally open the book’s pages.

The Uses of History - A.L. Rowse

A.L. Rowse – The Uses of History (1963 revised edition)
History – 170 pages – my edition (Penguin paperback; 1971) bought for £1 from The Book Cupboard on Plymouth Barbican, sometime in 2006
- 2 nods out of 5 -

A.L. Rowse is one of Cornwall’s most famous sons: from a humble beginning in St Austell, he became an outstanding scholar and adequate poet, making a name in History writing, and later in critiques upon Shakespearian works. This book – The Uses of History – is an overview of the subject, ‘of its uses and pleasures’. For a History buff, as the Worm claims to be, this was intended to be good reading.

A plethora of topics are discussed, including the Use of History, Historical Thinking, as well as History’s relation to Education and Culture. Rowse comments on many of the continuing debates, such as the difference between History as a Science or rather an Art. Rowse can debate with the best of them, but he leaves little for counter-argument; furthermore, many of his points appear dated in a new century, such as denouncing the German nation as power hungry.

This illustrious Cornishman fails to bring these pages to life. Rowse is open to many accusations: Stuffy? Yes. Pretentious? Perhaps. And most certainly always patronising (for evidence of which, jump to the last chapter: How to Teach Yourself History). Despite ticking the boxes of arguments and general discussion, Rowse fails to captivate his audience, and although he fulfils the ambition in his opening paragraph - to create ‘a manual of instruction on how to approach the subject’ – any intended pleasure is snuffed out and abandoned.

Such snobby tones are fit only for the elite; yet History is not for a section of society, for the brains of education, but instead for one and all. Sadly, Rowse’s short book in the main fails to deliver on the Worm’s expectations of access to History; but at least it is a short book.

The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin

Benjamin Franklin – The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin
Autobiography – read as iPhone app before Christmas 2010
- 2 nods out of 5 -

‘Dear son; I have ever had pleasure in obtaining any little anecdotes of my ancestors (and) imagining it may be equally agreeable to you to know the circumstances of my life, many of which you are yet unacquainted with, and expecting the enjoyment of a week’s interrupted leisure in my present country retirement, I sit down to write them for you.’

And so begins the autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. Statesman, scientist, revolutionary and leading figure of his age, the beginning paragraph displays typical modesty of a man of humble origins. It was completed in 1791, though a century of various drafts and publications would muddy the waters, before the coming of the twentieth century when the reading of Franklin’s autobiography was promoted as standard reading for youthful Americans.

It charts Franklin’s rise as a young man with nothing at his disposal, but for a head full of ideas and unrivalled energy. Building an honest reputation in the printing trade, Franklin writes of his rise as an integral part of the Philadelphian community: a thinker with local writers, a cog in local business, as well as a man of action in politics. It was he who brought about the initiation of a public lending library, of a fire service and various trade agreements within the American colonies.

Franklin’s autobiography has its fair share of critics; with Dennis Welland among them. At fault appears to be Franklin’s ‘exasperating… worldly wisdom’. Such words are justified, with the founding father never tiring of lecturing the reader. Read for yourself: ‘Thus, if you teach a poor young man to shave himself, and keep his razor in order, you may contribute more to the happiness of his life than in giving him a thousand guineas.’

The biggest regret of the autobiography is the timing of its end in the late 1750s. Before the nitty gritty of the revolutionary war, before his main stand in office, his travels in France and the drafting of the Declaration of Independence. Benjamin Franklin was an outstanding man of the eighteenth century; his work of autobiography, however, remains distinctly ordinary.