The Novel Cure: From Abandonment to Zestlessness: 751 Books to Cure What Ails You (73 page)

See also:
Boredom
•
Career, being in the wrong
•
Housewife, being a

Where Angels Fear to Tread

E. M. FORSTER

S
tiff upper lips—a peculiarly English facial modification—are caused by the repression and withholding of emotions. One’s lip remains rigid as cardboard in the face of all calamities, from heartbreak and death of pet dogs to the caving in of ceilings. Those of this stern persuasion will dust the debris off their hair, make a relevant quip, and suggest a good strong cup of tea amid the devastation of their kitchen, rather than give any clue as to what they might be feeling. And though we admire such self-control, though we know that keeping calm and carrying on is the definition of Britishness, and though we know it’s gotten us through centuries of tragedy and hardships, many would say that the famous British
froideur
is on the wane.
*

Forster’s beautiful but tragic
Where Angels Fear to Tread
—written at a time when the stiff upper lip was in its heyday—illustrates just how dangerous the lip can be to the lives of others, especially if they don’t share it. Lilia, the widow of Charles Herriton, is a trifle too flighty for the tastes of her in-laws, and they have encouraged her to travel to Italy as a means of distracting her from a new and inappropriate liaison. Supplying her with a suitably sober and spinsterish traveling companion, Caroline Abbott, they wave her off with every hope that the experience will prove ameliorative. As her brother-in-law Philip Herriton condescendingly remarks, “Italy really purifies and ennobles all who visit her.”

But purification, in Herriton terms, eludes her. Because almost immediately Lilia falls head over heels in love with Gino, a beautiful, passionate, feckless Italian devoid of any title. “A dentist in fairyland!” exclaims Philip, who loves all things Italian—except passion (and dentists). The Herriton rescue party is dispatched once again, but arrives too late. Lilia has already married Gino, and they soon have a son.

For reasons that cannot be divulged, Philip and his sister Harriet eventually find themselves face-to-face with Gino. And in the confrontation that ensues—the expressive Italian unafraid to be vulnerable and show his feelings, in particular his love for his son—we can see that the restrained English way, all buttoned up and disregarding, is terribly flawed. For a moment Philip sees the lure of the Mediterranean way, and wavers. But Harriet, her lip kept very stiff indeed, brushes it off as sentimentality and forces everyone’s hands. It leads them all to a place of irrevocable damage.

Let those lips wobble, let them tremble, let them open wide. And let those big, wet, messy emotions spill right out.

See also:
Emotions, inability to express

The Man Who Planted Trees

JEAN GIONO

Y
our heart is pounding. Your breath comes fast and shallow. Your fists are clenched and your eyes and ears are straining for information that may save your life.

No, you haven’t just come face-to-face with a bear. You’re waiting for the train to work, or making toast, or deciding which toilet paper to buy—just some ordinary, everyday thing. Except that you’re suffering from one of the most debilitating epidemics of the modern age: stress.

We prescribe a novel that is so slim and undaunting that we guarantee it will not add to your stress.
*
The Man Who Planted Trees
will soon have your soul slipping into a state of serenity. It is a simple tale. A shepherd lives in a stone house in a desolate part of France. He is surrounded by what he needs
and no more. One day it strikes him that this part of the country is dying for lack of trees, and “having nothing much else to do he decide[s] to put things right.” So he spends his evenings sorting acorns, good from bad, and his days planting them in the ground.

The lush forests of oak—then beech, then birch—that spring up around him transform the region into one that can support, nourish, and bring joy to thousands of people. But it’s not the results of his labors that brings tranquillity of mind to the shepherd. It’s the labor itself—the walking, digging, planting, watching, and waiting.

It’s more or less impossible not to feel peaceful in the company of the shepherd. And when you’ve finished and chuckled at the postscript, put it down and step outside. What you need now is a good, long walk. Put a trowel in your pocket and set out for the fields.

See also:
Anxiety
•
Busy, being too
•
Busy to read, being too
•
Concentrate, inability to
•
Cope, inability to
•
Headache
•
High blood pressure
•
Insomnia
•
Libido, loss of
•
Nightmares
•
Workaholism

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

JAMES JOYCE

T
he agony of a stubbed toe has to be endured; nothing can cure it. Thankfully, like a blow to the nose, the pain is short-lived. Expletives are usually one’s only resort.

To prevent public outrage and embarrassment, we strongly suggest you arm yourself with the literary equivalent of a venting expletive: a quote that comes easily to the lips, something staccato, memorable, alliterative, musical, evocative, distracting—that is, the first paragraph of this most approachable of Joyce’s novels,
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
. We will here supply only the opening words, for if it is a novel that is not already in your possession, you must get hold of a copy immediately and commit to memory the first seven lines. Then, when you next stub your toe, be ready to exclaim: “Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby
tuckoo . . .” and so on until “lemon platt.”

Then read the rest of this edifying novel, wising up with Stephen on how best to avoid life’s obstacles and find your wings.

See
:
Single-mindedness

See:
Mr./Mrs. Wrong, ending up with

The Imperfectionists

TOM RACHMAN

•   •   •

The Towers of Trebizond

ROSE MACAULAY