dragonslaying
I haven’t written much on here lately, partly because this year has been punctuated by a procession of family illnesses, meaning that summer and autumn have gone by in a sort of flickering suspense. Not coherent enough to make an essay out of, especially when you spend a lot of time around young children, who live in the ever-changing present tense.
My 7yo niece made up a song that ran “I’m just a girl… that’s just what I am… but any day… we could get… eaten… by the DRAAAAGON…” and I thought, very true. Life being short and bright.
So here are some things I’ve enjoyed, without trying to make an argument out of them:
Went to the Lee Miller exhibition and looked for a while at this portrait she took of Leonor Fini, in Paris, on the brink of the Second World War. It captures a mood and a moment in history wordlessly:
Due to the procession of illnesses, this story by Eva Wiseman moved me. If you can, donate stem cells or give blood, you could save a life.
I taught a course on Jane Austen, and taught poetry, and was perfectly happy thinking of nothing but books, like a square of light in the head.
Saw Twelfth Night at the Globe and it was one of the funniest Shakespeare productions I’ve seen. Though Feste was quite angry in it, and seemed more than ever like the underlying, mysterious heart of the play. All the unanswered questions and unfinished relationships of Twelfth Night were somehow embodied in him, holding his own emotional territory or atmosphere, even when he wasn’t directly doing very much.
Film Club made me smile.
I’ve been enjoying watching Wet Leg’s continued success, partly because they grew up on the Isle of Wight, as I did. Their songs and videos tap into its landscape - lots of cliff edges and small-town/big-world feelings.
I’m currently reading The Edge of the Alphabet by Janet Frame. After a while, when I pick up a novel and the sentences are all equally crisp, even, and somehow starched, I start to feel that something is wrong. It’s too neat, as though the writer never trod in mud. Janet Frame’s writing isn’t like that. It’s gorgeously messy. E.g.:
Now I, Thora Pattern, […] walk day and night among the leavings of people, places and moments. Here the dead (my goldsmiths) keep cropping up like daisies with their floral blackmail. It is nearly impossible to bribe them or buy their silence. They are never finished with trinkets pockets lockets gold watches that swing on giant chains against their dust-filled hearts. They leave their marks like fly-specks on my life.1
She had me at ‘floral blackmail’.
What’s been cheering you up?
NEWS: I’m teaching a course on Literature for Morley College, online, meeting once a month to discuss slices of classic books. We’re currently reading Pride and Prejudice, then Wuthering Heights. There’s still space to join us…
My substack is free. If you enjoy my writing, my latest book, Dangerous Enough, is available here.
Janet Frame, The Edge of the Alphabet (Fitzcarraldo, 2024[1962], p. 25.