February 20, 2007
Decca
Now reading Decca: The Letters of Jessica Mitford. Though, indeed, it is ever-so-popular to dislike the Mifords (because, really, grumpy people must find it within themselves to hate anything the least bit fabulous lest the universe be disturbed), I’ve been a fan since I read The Mitford Girls in 2003. Though by no means are their stories comfortable, they’re undeniably storied stories and I love them for that reason. Anyway, Decca’s letters run long and of course with my appetite for fiction, I’ll only be able to read them in dribs and drabs by my bedside. Like treats to savour. In celebration I will reshare with you my favourite poem I ever wrote, Mitford-inspired or otherwise.
Extremism was so fashionable that first season
“Why must all my daughters fall for dictators?”
~ Lady Redesdale (Sydney Mitford)
Extremism was so fashionable
that first season.
At the races my daughter won herself a diplomat
and my husband and I my husband and I
concerned with crashing stocks had our veritable sigh
and we folded our hands and nodded then,
as he stood on a box and took up his pen
because she looked on so loving
I couldn’t help but be pleased,
in spite of his wife, in spite of their life
and his radical politics leaning far right.
There was the matter of war in Spain
which (she said) was just a prelude.
This was the littlest daughter, always contrary,
“I will run away, you’ll all be sorry.”
When she finally fled, it was to throes of war
and she didn’t bring a stitch to wear,
to fight for the reds or marry for love
just to be where the action was happening.
She had to deny her former life
to prove her worth as working-class wife,
they came back to fight for the cause from their home
on the slummier side of South London.
The man of the year was a small man
seeking room to grow.
My middle daughter found him on her travels
my sullen, silly girl, by his words became so serious
when she sang them in her own voice
we consented, it was her choice
but he was such a charming gentleman
when he had us all to tea.
(But this is when the trouble starts, as you will see)
Solidarity was demanded on the homefront
but for us, this was impossible.
My golden older daughter and her lover- now her husband-
the coincidence of their ideological proximity
translated to sympathy for the enemy
and this daughter of mine, fond of long days and wine,
spent war years charming the Holloway Prison for Women.
The littlest one fled to America, still wedded to her cause,
kept her affiliations testifiable, and sincerity undeniable-
she had rallies and babies and books to write and
for seventeen years she refused to cross the line,
she fought the fascist front known as The Family
My husband and I- my husband and,
as his opinion of the Germans was established years before
when he’d lost a lung fighting in the First World War
and he could not abide by the company
of the leader with whom I’d had the pleasure of tea.
Especially not while the world was coming apart
at its bursting Versaillesian seams.
And my silly daughter could not abide by bursting seams
to choose between England and the man of her dreams
on September first, nineteen thirty-nine
she put a gun to her temple in an attempt to stop time.
My outspoken daughters had been drawn to men
who could outspeak them.
They dared to defy us with dictators- an original act of rebellion-
typical; no middle men, they loved instead
their moustaches and regalia their marching men with unbending knees
Prussian fortitude, Yugoslavian ingenuity
and all those ideals that had the trains run on time.
I could not raise a shallow woman; my daughters
my twentieth-century casualties, there was a time
behind every powerful man was a good woman
and I had birthed nearly all of them.
December 29, 2006
New Arrivals
The Voyage Out and Jacob’s Room by Virginia Woolf from Mum and Dad England
Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose from my Mom Stateside (or thereabouts)
Decca: the Letters of Jessica Mitford from Bronners
Two volumes of Buddha by Osamu Tezuka, which actually came into my husband’s life but we share lives
The Hunters by Claire Messud which I found for a dollar in a bookshop
Similarly, I got a hard cover copy of Love Story by Erich Segal for a dollar too. I bought it to replace the school library book I stole in grade seven, and subsequently read to pieces. I believe this novel might just be godawful, but I have always loved it. And sometimes (often?) love does mean having to say you’re sorry– for having terrible terrible taste.
September 13, 2006
Long List
Upsetting revelations have included that I recently became the sort of person who stows tissue on their person and then forgets about it. Does that make sense? It was devastating. It was definitely a one-off, and I promise not to do it again. Otherwise, it’s all back to school and I am reading and learning, and I finished my summer job today so that I could do that absolutely properly. I recently read A Perfect Night to Go to China and I didn’t like it much, which is significant, because you don’t often hear me say that about a book. I also read Angel by Elizabeth Taylor, which was very Nancy Mitford. Now reading (for school) The Double Hook by Sheila Watson, which is intriguing. Next up (for fun) is A Big Storm Knocked it Over by Laurie Colwin. And I got my TA reading list today, which means a dream has finally come true and someone is paying me to read books. Oh yes, and The Giller Long List here. Plus, sign up for your copy of I wish my enemies were Russians, the new release from Pickle Me This Press. Copies should be bound this weekend and on sale next week for $5 each.
May 18, 2006
Wave Riding
Have removed my histrionic entry, as it was a bit much. With no goat references. Things remain decidedly crappy on the immi front but we’ll ride out that wave, and count our blessings in the meantime that we have all the support we do. Perpetual rainfall and constant fretting do an exhausted girl make. I read Love in a Cold Climate by Nancy Mitford, and now I am reading The Golden Apples by Eudora Welty. The Great Summer Re-Reading project is just around the corner, so I am reading up the unread corners of my bookshelf in the meantime.
Zoe Williams on the you never saw it coming McCartney split. On the best books about music. Stuart is existentially traumatised about recent developments in the world of lactic acid.
March 24, 2006
Book Wages
Ah, payment in the form of books! Stuart and I spent the afternoon helping sort books for the Echolocation Book Sale (7 King College Circle, Monday and Tuesday). And I have come away with a haul. I got The Female of the Species by Lionel Shriver, Volume 5 of The Diary of Virginia Woolf, The Golden Apples by Eudora Welty, Sarah Bastard’s Notebook by Marian Engel. Bliss and other Stories by Katherine Mansfield, Poison Penmanship by Jessica Mitford and Democracy and A Book of Common Prayer by Joan Didion.
In news of great satisfaction, I have a 100 page portfolio compiled, of which I am immensely pleased. And a date for brunch in the morn.
December 21, 2005
The Eskimo Way
Christmas has eaten our social life in the most delightful way. We’re busy every day and even double-booked some. And enjoying days spent doing exactly what we want. Chocolate has become perhaps too dear a friend however. We will have to be chary. Just finished “The Pursuit of Love” by the right hilarious Nancy Mitford, and onto a Penelope Lively book. Quite happily busy with a story of my own. And the world is a winter wonderland.
December 11, 2005
Oh Tenenbaum, you're a wild and crazy guy
The end of a long fiasco. I wasted last evening needles in hand, watching “Bounce” starring the legendary Paltrow and Affleck. We went shopping this morning and found nothing we needed. Downtown Toronto is devoid of nanaimo bar ingredients. Someone has stolen all the bolts from the Christmas tree stands at WalMart and of course we were actually in WalMart. All the trees were either bundled or the Charlie Brown Special at the store near our house. We finally located a stand at the local mom and pop, and took our chances on a bundled tree. (We swore we would love it no matter how it turned out). Still no nanaimos though. And of course I haven’t even started my essay (though I have written the title and my name and that’s a start technically) but perhaps now I can concentrate on it. Christmas is officially here at Pickle Me This! See below for our freshly knit stockings and our rather lovely tree (which doesn’t yet have anything atop it but there will be time).
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Now reading “Pearls in Vinegar” by Heather Mallick, which I am enjoying but only because I am obsessed with Heather Mallick. Those without Mallick obsessions would be far from interested. I also read “Negotiating with the Dead: A Writer on Writing” by Margaret Atwood (which I could pretend pertained to my essay) which was good. And finally reading “A Fine Old Conflict” by Jessica Mitford, which is odd because I haven’t read a Mitford bio since the Mitford obsession of 2003 and I feel as though I have gone back in time.
Now preparing for our Christmas party. If I haven’t invited you, considered yourself invited anyway. There is going to be a lot of food! Paul and Bronwyn are coming home this week, Bronwyn with her Alex and Paul sans his lovely girl so we’ll have to console him (with a lot of food!).
October 19, 2005
Woolfian
It may have become clear that I since I’ve started my masters, I have become obsessed with Virginia Woolf. This shows no sign of letting up and I keeping peppering every day conversation with, “Well, Virginia says…”. Because she said everything. She also wrote a wonderful essay in a collection called “Lives of the Obscure” in her First Common Reader called “Miss Ormerod”. I read it the other day, and really enjoyed it- a very sprightly, creative take on character-driven historical fiction. It reminded me of my new friend Lindsay’s “Sky- A Three Letter Prayer” novel-in-verse about Amerlia Earhart, and of what drove me to write my Mitford poem, and a poem I am currently writing based upon a woman in Margaret MacMillan’s “Women of the Raj.” Anyway, “Miss Ormerod” is a wonderful essay and Eleanor Ormerod is begging for an updated biography. You can learn about her here or thru Woolf’s bio. She was an foremost entomologist in Britain during the late 19th century, a lecturer who introduced entomology as a study, the first woman fellow of the Royal Meteorological Society and the first woman to receive an Hon. LLB from the University of Edinburgh. In other Woolf news. I read her Craftsmanshipessay yesterday, and it was fascinating look at the power of words and the challenge of writing.
On Tristram Shandy and a new film. That book has been mentioned around me near daily for the past month or so, and I guess I should read it. (Virginia would agree). Zoe Williams talks art. Russell Smith on the arts. Maud Newton on marginalia.
October 3, 2005
I've been shopping
First, I can’t stop listening to “Helpless” by Buffy Sainte-Marie. You can find it here.
Second, the following books were exuberantly purchased from the Vic Book Sale.
1) Passing On by Penelope Lively
2) The Fourth Hand by John Irving (for Stu)
3) Judgement Day by Penelope Lively
4) A Change of Climate by Hilary Mantel
5) Play It As It Lays by Joan Didion
6) Eight Months on Ghazzah Street by Hilary Mantel
7) A Fine Old Conflict by Jessica Mitford.
Heads are gonna roll.
