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imyerhero's review against another edition
4.0
This is a wonderful little pick up and read book. Mr. Chips represents the type of teacher everyone hopes to get – caring and funny. He also doesn’t skimp on the education, with tough standards and no allowance for slacking. This is a great heartfelt read on the Victorian era schooling as it was brutally thrust into the horrors of World War I and how one man dealt with it as he watched boys he loved die and tried to preserve the school he’d come to love. I can see how this could be made into a wonderful movie, and I can’t wait to watch it.
sfaustine's review against another edition
5.0
A classic story - the kind you never knew you didn't know... until you read it and feel like you've known it for ever. Readable and wise, heartfelt and sincere.
ashleyhoss820's review against another edition
4.0
This book was ridiculously sweet and a lovely story about a beloved school master. I completely understand why this book is an enduring classic. If you need a palate-cleansing, feel-good, nostalgia-inducing tale then this book is perfect! It's perfect anyway. Read it. (Most Popular Book of 1934)
vinniemann's review against another edition
5.0
A must read for a Male teenager. Heart warming story of a teacher.
allegraanne's review against another edition
5.0
Good read. Nothing fancy. Not brilliant. Just really, really good.
horrorqueen's review against another edition
5.0
A simple, beautiful and very moving tale of a life well-lived. This short novel takes us through the key and defining moments, along with the touching, everyday life of Mr. Chips, giving us a memorable character who sparkles with life. Despite the short length of this work, finishing the book makes you feel as though you've lived Mr. Chips' whole life with him, a magnificent feat. I'm not shamed to admit that I did shed a few tears too; this is a heartfelt novel which simply exposes the beauty and poignancy of life. Highly recommended.
aaronlindsey's review against another edition
4.0
A sweet little book which takes the reader back in time to a much simpler day...a day when boys were tough, and could take a joke, and had respect for their elders.
This plot of this novel is much like Pnin, but without the humor, and not nearly as deep as the work by Nabokov.
A light read, but very enjoyable.
This plot of this novel is much like Pnin, but without the humor, and not nearly as deep as the work by Nabokov.
A light read, but very enjoyable.
traditionson's review against another edition
4.0
This being the third time I have read this book it was amazing and saddening but also very different. A look at a lifetime in a way that is both reflective but also joyful at times. The changes to his personality, his awareness and views was a gaze into how time changes everything an how much can be lost to it at the same time. A book that I only now really appreciate being slightly older. It has different elements that ring to the different age groups which is a masterful style of writing. Still don’t read when already upset (BIG mistake)!
schmidtmark56's review against another edition
5.0
At first I thought I wasn't going to love this book. The first chapter drags quite a bit and could probably have been cut, but the middle and ending of the book more than make up for the slow start. This is such a short yet beautiful story, and I'd so highly recommend it for the overall effect, which is much greater than the sum of its parts.
Near the start we have a simple schoolmaster who is pretty uninterestingly conservative, and he is on a hike with a friend when his friend leaves, and then Chips sees a woman waving frantically, so of course he believes she is in danger, races ahead, and hurts himself. Now the woman who had been signalling to her friend has to help Mr. Chips, instead of him helping her. We have gentle subversions like this throughout the book which are really what we need, a gentle prying from our partisanship, not a jolt or a waste like The Last Jedi. She is really superior to him in every way, she's younger, smarter, everything, and despite her "radical" progressive politics (she believes women should be able to go to university, vote, and ride bikes), she takes a liking to him while taking care of him. I adored this little romance and how it softened Mr. Chips, making him a more caring, understanding, tolerant person. I think that the implicit point here is one oft-overlooked by feminists, that women throughout history have had a profound effect through the men that they have impacted.
By the middle we get some tragedy and some conflict, and we have Mr. Chips fighting successfully against the forces of modernism (school politics), and Mr. Chips rightfully rejects turning the school into a factory pumping out carbon copy kids per the trend at the time. Mr. Chips saw the big picture, that more important than the literal subjects is all the soft skills, character, and virtue that is required of citizens:
“Touchy, no sense of humor, no sense of proportion—that was the matter with them, these new fellows... No sense of proportion. And it was a sense of proportion, above all things, that Brookfield ought to teach — not so much Latin or Greek or Chemistry or Mechanics. And you couldn't expect to test that sense of proportion by setting papers and granting certificates.”
Because Mr. Chips had such tenure and popularity at the time of the school politics he was able to weather the storm. It's when the book reaches the war politics of WWI that it really shines. It doesn't take up a partisan anti-war stance, but it throws some interesting wrenches into the washing machine:
"A hundred years ago boys from this school were fighting against the French. Strange, in a way, that the sacrifices of one generation should so cancel out those of another."
At one point, Mr. Chips, who takes over the depressing role of reading out the names of former graduates who have died in the War, hears word that a German teacher they hosted for a while had died on the western front (i.e. had been fighting them):
“On the Western Front, Chips said. Does that mean he was fighting for the Germans ?”
“I suppose it does.”
“Seems funny, then, to read his name out with all the others. After all, he was an enemy!*
“Oh, just one of Chips’s ideas, I expect. The old boy still has ’em.”
Chips, in his room again, was not displeased by the comment. Yes, he still had ’em — those
ideas of dignity and generosity that were becoming increasingly rare in a frantic world. And
he thought: Brookfield will take them, too, from me; but it wouldn’t from anyone else.
There's one especially poignant point where Mr. Chips is teaching and an air raid starts:
And once, on a night of full moonlight, the airraid warning was given while Chips was taking his lower fourth in Latin. The guns began almost instantly, and, as there was plenty of shrapnel falling about outside, it seemed to Chips that they might just as well stay where they were, on the ground floor of School House. It was pretty solidly built and made as good a dugout as Brookfield could offer; and as for a direct hit, well, they could not expect to survive that, wherever they were.
So he went on with his Latin, speaking a little louder amid the reverberating crashes of the guns and the shrill whine of anti-aircraft shells. Some of the boys were nervous; few were able to be attentive. He said, gently: “It may possibly seem to you, Robertson — at this particular moment in the world’s history — umph — that the affairs of Caesar in Gaul some two thousand years ago — are — umph — of somewhat secondary importance — and that — umph — the irregular conjugation of the verb tollo is — umph— -even less important still. But believe me — umph — my dear Robertson — that is not really the case.” Just then there came a particularly loud explosion — quite near. “You cannot — umph — judge the importance of things — umph — by the noise they make. Oh dear me, no.” A little chuckle. “And these things — umph — that have mattered — for thousands of years — are not going to be — snuffed out — because some stink merchant —in his laboratory — invents a new kind of mischief.” Titters of nervous laughter; for Buffles, the pale, lean, and medically unfit science master, was nicknamed the Stink Merchant. Another explosion — nearer still. “Let us — um — resume our work. If it is fate that we are soon to be — umph — interrupted, let us be found employing ourselves in something — umph — really appropriate. Is there anyone who will volunteer to construe?”
Maynard, chubby, dauntless, clever, and impudent, said: “I will, sir.”
“Very good. Turn to page forty and begin at the bottom line.”
The explosions still continued deafeningly; the whole building shook as if it were being lifted off its foundations. Maynard found the page, which was some way ahead, and began, shrilly; —
‘‘Genus hoc erat pugnae — this was the kind of fight — quo se Germani exercuerant — m. which the Germans busied themselves. Oh, sir, that’s good — that’s really very funny indeed, sir — one of your very best — ”
Laughing began, and Chips added: “Well — umph — you can see — now — that these dead languages — umph — can come to life again — sometimes — eh. Eh?”
Throughout the book and especially at the end, there is musing upon temporality, upon the meaning of life, of the cycles of students and teachers, of descendants and children. Mr. Chips, who never had children, remarks that he did have them after all...
"I thought I heard you — one of you — saying it was a pity — umph — a pity I never had — any children . . . eh? . . . But I have, you know ... I have ...”
The others smiled without answering, and after a pause Chips began a faint and palpitating chuckle.
“Yes — umph — I have,” he added, with quavering merriment. “Thousands of ’em . . . thousands of ’em . . . and all boys.”
The ending really was beautiful and I refuse to spoil anything major that happens in the book because it's very worth reading. It is a book for the heart and the soul, one that gently challenges in the right direction. It reminds us of the right things, it contains the lessons no longer taught in schools. It has also cemented my wish to someday emulate Mr. Chips.
Near the start we have a simple schoolmaster who is pretty uninterestingly conservative, and he is on a hike with a friend when his friend leaves, and then Chips sees a woman waving frantically, so of course he believes she is in danger, races ahead, and hurts himself. Now the woman who had been signalling to her friend has to help Mr. Chips, instead of him helping her. We have gentle subversions like this throughout the book which are really what we need, a gentle prying from our partisanship, not a jolt or a waste like The Last Jedi. She is really superior to him in every way, she's younger, smarter, everything, and despite her "radical" progressive politics (she believes women should be able to go to university, vote, and ride bikes), she takes a liking to him while taking care of him. I adored this little romance and how it softened Mr. Chips, making him a more caring, understanding, tolerant person. I think that the implicit point here is one oft-overlooked by feminists, that women throughout history have had a profound effect through the men that they have impacted.
By the middle we get some tragedy and some conflict, and we have Mr. Chips fighting successfully against the forces of modernism (school politics), and Mr. Chips rightfully rejects turning the school into a factory pumping out carbon copy kids per the trend at the time. Mr. Chips saw the big picture, that more important than the literal subjects is all the soft skills, character, and virtue that is required of citizens:
“Touchy, no sense of humor, no sense of proportion—that was the matter with them, these new fellows... No sense of proportion. And it was a sense of proportion, above all things, that Brookfield ought to teach — not so much Latin or Greek or Chemistry or Mechanics. And you couldn't expect to test that sense of proportion by setting papers and granting certificates.”
Because Mr. Chips had such tenure and popularity at the time of the school politics he was able to weather the storm. It's when the book reaches the war politics of WWI that it really shines. It doesn't take up a partisan anti-war stance, but it throws some interesting wrenches into the washing machine:
"A hundred years ago boys from this school were fighting against the French. Strange, in a way, that the sacrifices of one generation should so cancel out those of another."
At one point, Mr. Chips, who takes over the depressing role of reading out the names of former graduates who have died in the War, hears word that a German teacher they hosted for a while had died on the western front (i.e. had been fighting them):
“On the Western Front, Chips said. Does that mean he was fighting for the Germans ?”
“I suppose it does.”
“Seems funny, then, to read his name out with all the others. After all, he was an enemy!*
“Oh, just one of Chips’s ideas, I expect. The old boy still has ’em.”
Chips, in his room again, was not displeased by the comment. Yes, he still had ’em — those
ideas of dignity and generosity that were becoming increasingly rare in a frantic world. And
he thought: Brookfield will take them, too, from me; but it wouldn’t from anyone else.
There's one especially poignant point where Mr. Chips is teaching and an air raid starts:
And once, on a night of full moonlight, the airraid warning was given while Chips was taking his lower fourth in Latin. The guns began almost instantly, and, as there was plenty of shrapnel falling about outside, it seemed to Chips that they might just as well stay where they were, on the ground floor of School House. It was pretty solidly built and made as good a dugout as Brookfield could offer; and as for a direct hit, well, they could not expect to survive that, wherever they were.
So he went on with his Latin, speaking a little louder amid the reverberating crashes of the guns and the shrill whine of anti-aircraft shells. Some of the boys were nervous; few were able to be attentive. He said, gently: “It may possibly seem to you, Robertson — at this particular moment in the world’s history — umph — that the affairs of Caesar in Gaul some two thousand years ago — are — umph — of somewhat secondary importance — and that — umph — the irregular conjugation of the verb tollo is — umph— -even less important still. But believe me — umph — my dear Robertson — that is not really the case.” Just then there came a particularly loud explosion — quite near. “You cannot — umph — judge the importance of things — umph — by the noise they make. Oh dear me, no.” A little chuckle. “And these things — umph — that have mattered — for thousands of years — are not going to be — snuffed out — because some stink merchant —in his laboratory — invents a new kind of mischief.” Titters of nervous laughter; for Buffles, the pale, lean, and medically unfit science master, was nicknamed the Stink Merchant. Another explosion — nearer still. “Let us — um — resume our work. If it is fate that we are soon to be — umph — interrupted, let us be found employing ourselves in something — umph — really appropriate. Is there anyone who will volunteer to construe?”
Maynard, chubby, dauntless, clever, and impudent, said: “I will, sir.”
“Very good. Turn to page forty and begin at the bottom line.”
The explosions still continued deafeningly; the whole building shook as if it were being lifted off its foundations. Maynard found the page, which was some way ahead, and began, shrilly; —
‘‘Genus hoc erat pugnae — this was the kind of fight — quo se Germani exercuerant — m. which the Germans busied themselves. Oh, sir, that’s good — that’s really very funny indeed, sir — one of your very best — ”
Laughing began, and Chips added: “Well — umph — you can see — now — that these dead languages — umph — can come to life again — sometimes — eh. Eh?”
Throughout the book and especially at the end, there is musing upon temporality, upon the meaning of life, of the cycles of students and teachers, of descendants and children. Mr. Chips, who never had children, remarks that he did have them after all...
"I thought I heard you — one of you — saying it was a pity — umph — a pity I never had — any children . . . eh? . . . But I have, you know ... I have ...”
The others smiled without answering, and after a pause Chips began a faint and palpitating chuckle.
“Yes — umph — I have,” he added, with quavering merriment. “Thousands of ’em . . . thousands of ’em . . . and all boys.”
The ending really was beautiful and I refuse to spoil anything major that happens in the book because it's very worth reading. It is a book for the heart and the soul, one that gently challenges in the right direction. It reminds us of the right things, it contains the lessons no longer taught in schools. It has also cemented my wish to someday emulate Mr. Chips.