Random Jottings

Exhausted Jottings

Have spent the day tidying up, finishing off and shopping for things like a new kitchen bin, washing up bowl and other similar exciting things.  Clock back up on the wall, few more plates and things sorted, still arranging cupboards so am feeling brain dead and not up to posting today.

Back tomorrow.

Au reservoir.

All done bar the shouting..

 

Here is how my kitchen looked - old cupboards which I painted to cover up their dreadful colour, uneven walls with old tiles, all cluttered and no work space.  On the right you can just see my fridge which had to sit there as I had nowhere else to put it. Please note gap between washing machine and unit, totally wasted space.

 

And here is the corner and window as it is now.  Extra space, extra work surface and the rest of the kitchen is also wonderful.  I keep wandering in and grinning like an idiot.  It is the most luxurious kitchen I have ever had, designed properly and yes it has taken a hole out of my savings, but oh it is worth it!!  My clock has to go back on the wall and also I will be making a new curtain for the window but I am going to take my time and choose some nice material.

 

And here is the other end - all that shelf space.  Calloo callay o frabjous day!!

The other Elizabeth Taylor - Nicola Beauman

In the acknowledgments at the end of this book Nicola Beauman tells us that this biography was authorised by the late John Taylor and she was to quote from all published and unpublished copyright material.  Because of the sensitivity of some of this material, which included a cache of letters between Elizabeth and her lover during the first years of her married life, which John Taylor was aware of, she felt 'it was inappropriate to publish the book while he was still alive'.  The author also tells us that she submitted the manuscript to John and Elizabeth's son and daughter who were very 'angry and distressed' about the book and have asked to be disassociated from it.

This situation must pose a dilemma to any biographer.  Nicola Beauman had permission from John Taylor to write this biography but as it has been some fifteen years in the making, one assumes that the children were perhaps not told of this projected book by their father or were hoping that perhaps it would never happen.  This is pure conjecture on my part.  

So what does a biographer do? 

A few weeks ago I attended a play The Fascinating Mrs Inchbald at the Theatre Royal at Bury St Edmunds, a one hander, written and acted by the author. Elizabeth Inchbald was a well known actress and playwright of her time and a theme of the play was the guarding of her reputation.  The point was made that the name of Mary Wollstonecraft, a friend of Mrs Inchbald, had been tarnished after her death because of the memoir written about her by her widower, Charles Godwin and that we remember more of the scandalous facts about her than anything else.  It was rumoured that because of this Elizabeth Inchbald destroyed her own writings about her life so that no scandal would emerge and she would be judged on her writing alone.

Then there Edith Wharton's short story, The Touchstone which touches on the same problem.  Stephen Glennard wishes to marry his beautiful fiance but is hampered by lack of money and progression in his career.  However, he has in his keeping a series of letters written to him by 'the eminent and now deceased author, Margaret Aubyn'.  He silences his conscience and sells these letters and then has to stand by and see their publication become the subject of a hunt to discover the identity of the man who has betrayed his past love so irrevocably.

Reputation is a fragile thing.   It is always rather lowering to discover that a great writer or actor or artist, is capable of behaving just as badly as anybody else, and this knowledge can certainly alter our perception of future viewing/reading now that we know more than perhaps we should.

I would like to say straight away after reading this portrayal of Elizabeth Taylor that much though the writing of this book may have caused the family distress, it is clear to me that Nicola Beaumann has a huge admiration and love for their mother's writing and has given us a portrait of this writer that clearly reflects this.  I found it a very personal piece of writing and rather unusual in style for a biography as the author allows us into her reaction and feelings almost all the way through.  There are plenty of asides, comments and footnotes (which I have to be honest, I felt were rather too numerous at times), but my feeling is that Nicola Beauman was trying very hard to be scrupulously fair towards her subject and (I am once again making an assumption) that as she had very restricted access to papers and documentation, she had to rely on perhaps second hand sources and wanted to make quite sure that she entered a caveat if she could not confirm a fact with 100% certainty.

The picture which emerges from this biography is that of an intensely private woman, who after the end of her love affair, at the request of her husband, then becomes the perfect wife and mother, living a life of domesticity in the country and writing sitting in an armchair in the living room, always available and liable to constant interruption.  Because of her reticence and lack of involvement in the literary circles of the time, she was viewed by other contemporary women authors with disparagement and rather dismissed and it seems that Olivia Manning and Pamela Hansford Johnson were particularly unkind. 

"What did not help was that Elizabeth's perceptions, her interests, her awareness were essentially feminine; then there is her reticence, the domestic subject matter, the lending library aura that surrounds her work, the Thames Valley settings, the being married to a sweet manufacturer....the assumption that her work is predictable...one could go on.

And as for her style...........too many reviewers found it too feminine, missed the humour, missed the bleakness, could only see the subject material was domestic and then condemned the entire oeuvre as minor, certainly incapable of greatness"

Nicola Beauman, as we all know, is the founder of Persephone which specialises in the republication of books by mainly women authors, who have fallen out of favour so therefore she is going to be sympathetic towards books written in such a setting as quoted above.  When we look at the range of authors who fall into this so called 'domestic' category, Susan Glaspell, the much maligned Dorothy Whipple and Elizabeth Cambridge, to name just a few, we can only marvel at the dismissive way they have been treated.   The fact that Elizabeth Taylor is still published by Virago perhaps gives us a clue that she is not so middle class and boring as one would believe.

I have not read a great deal of Elilzaneth Taylor, but what I have read I enjoyed though perhaps some of the subtleties of her writing may have passed me by. With this book under my belt, with its helpful synopses of her short stories and themes in her novels, I am certainly going to revisit them.  One I do remember very clearly is Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont, a portrayal of loneliness and fear of old age among a group of residents at a hotel, which was the book that made me realise that here was a writer worth reading.  It is still my favourite.

"Will she at last be bracketed with Elizabeth Bowen and Rebecca West and Rosamond Lehmann as one of the most important writers of the last century.......? Will the tide turn?  I can only hope so and one day, when the tide does turn she will be the Elizabeth  Taylor".

On the face of it the title of this biography refers to the fact that the subject of the book shared her name with The Elizabeth Taylor, the Hollywood film star, but I also wonder if the author is referring to the fact that there might be another personality hidden under the face that the writer presented to the world, one that she kept carefully hidden and a one which is protected by her children? 

I doubt if we shall ever know, but I think Nicola Beauman has written a warm and sympathetic book which has clearly been a labour of love and produced under difficult circumstances. 

Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons

As a teenager I tried to read this but did not 'get' it, found it curiously uninteresting and could not understand why everyone thought it was so wonderful.  Well, of course, years of reading now make me realise how funny and satirical this book is, taking the pith out of the country novel full of earthy characters, and picturesque farm folk.  I loved it this time around.

Flora Poste finds herself orphaned and poverty stricken at the age of twenty.  She has an income of £100 a year and decides to try living with relatives rather than getting herself a job and after sending letters to them all and sifting the replies, she decides to stay with the Starkadder family at Cold Comfort Farm, near the village of Howling in Sussex.

The farm is dirty, glowering and peopled by the most extraordinary collection of characters you could ever hope to find.  Judith ("she looked a woman without boundaries as she stood wrapped in a crimson shawl to protect her bitter, magnificent shoulders from the splintery cold of the early air"), mother of Seth who she adores:

"Her eyes burned under their penthouses sometimes straying towards Seth as he sat sprawling in the lusty pride of casual manhood, with a good many buttons and tapes undone"

Seth is quite magnificent: "Seth came in silently with his graceful, pantherish tread to the door of the room.........The young man stood in the warm light of the declining sun, his bare throat and boldly moulded features looking as though they were bathed in gold. His pose was easy and graceful. A superb self confidence radiated from him as it does from any healthy animal."

Hardly surprising that off he goes to become a film star where he is wildly successful.

I won't go through every single character in this book because if you have already read it, you know them all, and if you haven't, then I want you to go out and get a copy and read it and I don't want to spoil it for you. However,  I must just mention Aunt Ada Doom, who years ago say 'something nasty in the woodshed' and has never been right since.  We never discovered what she saw and this is left to the reader's imagination. She now spends her days living a hermit like existence in her room rarely venturing out but exerting an iron clad authority on her family who think she is mad and are petrified of making her worse by any form of argument.

Flora arrives and decides that the entire family needs sorting out and marrying off and tackles the task with gusto.  She is very Emma like in her absolute certainty that she knows best and, in this case, there is no Mr Knightley  to rein her in and, unlike Jane Austen's heroine, she succeeds against all the odds, even finding happiness herself at the end.

I simply loved this book after approaching it with slight trepidation with my earlier memories of it hovering in my mind, but I need not have worried.  As I said in the opening paragraph, I originally did not 'get it' but I do now.  I mean how can you not like a book that has four cows named Graceless, Pointless, Feckless and Aimless? 

Wonderful.

Sunday Ramblings and Prize Draw

Kitchen nearly there though we discovered yesterday that the wrong oven has arrived.  Replacement will not be here for another week so Nigel, the boss man, insisted that he wire it all up as I could not possibly go without a cooker for that length of time.  Sink now working so no more washing up in the bathroom, thank goodness.

Back on Monday with the electrician to finalise all the sockets and fit light, painting to be done and a bit of shelving to do.  My living room is now back to normal, no more being surrounded by fridges and freezers etc so last night was bliss stretched out on the sofa.  Will be posting pics of completed kitchen in due course if you can contain your excitement that long..... 'ahem'

Anyway, enough wittering.

 

I have carried out the prize draw for The Spy Game by Georgina Harding.  I put all the names in my lovely new bowl from Istanbul (I resisted a mug but gave in to this) and the winner is:

 

Congratulations Hilary and if you email me your address I will get this in the post to you as soon as possible.  Many thanks to all of you who took part and I hope to have another draw soon.

Have a good day everyone.

Saturday jottings

Still in chaos but nearly there.  The giuys are coming in today to try and get the kitchen working and also to remove the washing machine, fridge and freezer from my living room.  I am marooned in a sea of boxes and furniture and it is really getting me down now.  So not much in the way of sane writing this weekend.

I have the draw for the Spy Game by Georgina Harding to do and, hopefully, that will take palce tomorrow.  If you have not yet entered and want to please just leave a note in the comments to this post and I will add you in.

Have just finished reading Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons.  So funny. Wonderful.

  

Will write more sensibly when I can - in the meantime here is a photo for you all.  A ceiling in the Topkapi Palace.

Jose Carreras retires

Was checking the Times on line this morning and this headline caught my eye and I flicked over to the article.

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/stage/opera/article6243600.ece

Jose Carreras says he is now calling time on his operatic career as he finds the demands of performing on an opera stage too much for him now.  My feeling was that he had left the opera stage some time ago, so perhaps this is just a confirmation of his career over recent years.  I have seen that he has performed in many concerts and festivals but the last time I saw him on stage was in Stiffelio at Covent Garden, must be back in the early 1990s, but my memory may be faulty on this.

I first fell in love with Jose back in the 1970s when my then hubby was doing some extra chorus work at Covent Garden in a productoon of Verdi's I Lombardi and he got me a ticket for the dress rehearsal.  All great fun, lots of choruses and all most enjoyable and then this tenor came on stage, opened his mouth and out poured this glorious, golden, limpid tone that simply knocked me for six.  None of us had heard him before and my reaction was the same as all around me.  His voice, its timbre, phrasing (which has always been immaculate) reminded me so much of Guiseppe di Stefano, an Italian tenor I used to love when I was learning my opera andlistened to the old Scala recordings with him, Callas and Gobbi.  Was extremely pleased to discover that I had not been wrong as Carreras cited Di Stefano (as well as Mario Lanza) as his role model.

So that was it, I was hooked and fell in love.  On this particular occasion, I went backstage to meet my husband and we ended up in the canteen having lunch.  This was before Covent Garden was poshed up and it was all pretty basic in the back areas and I was standing in the queue having fish and chips doled out by a dinner lady when I became aware that her eyes had glazed over and when I looked to myleft there was the man himself standing next to me in the queue.  Oh my goodness, he was SO handsome with  cheek bones you could hook a hanger on, tiny mind you, only up to my shoulder, but just gorgeous.  Spent the next half hour gawping at him and watching him eat his fish and chips, mine went cold.  I daresay I put him right off...

Then of course, several years later, he got leukemia and I remember being totally devastated at this and horrified at what had happened to him. Well, we know he made a wonderful recovery and I was present at Covent Garden on his come back recital, just him and a piano, and the audience was in tears, went potty and hurled roses onto the stage.  However, it is true to say, and I am sure that the man himself would agree, that he was never the same again and the voice began to sound more strained and his vibrato started knocking on doors.  He very sensiblyy cut back his operatic appearances and then of course, came The Three Tenors which I have posted about before here.

Pavarotti is no longer with us, Placido is, thank God though he is now singing baritone roles (Boccanegra next year at ROH), but his voice still rich, round and wonderful but with Jose only doing recitals in future, we are now down to  One Tenor. 

These three did so much to bring opera to a wider audience and I am forever grateful to them all, and though I adore Placido, I have to admit that my heart has always belonged to Jose.

And take a look at this early picture of him and then you will realise just why I fell in love with him. Yes, right the voice was wonderful but oh the packaging does help you know, it really does......

We are getting there....

 

 

Well, we are slowly getting there.  Slowly. Plaster has now dried out and the fitters have started.  Roll on the weekend when it will be done and I will have to spend the next few days clearing up, tidying, filling up cupboards and, though I hate to say it, I will have to get the Hoover out.

It is All too Much to Bear....

Nightingale Wood - Stella Gibbons

Oh what a lovely lovely book.  I spotted it in Waterstones last week and having heard mention of it from an on line reading group, of which I am a member, I picked up a copy and took it to Istanbul with me.  Did not really have time to start it until the flight back when I kept falling asleep so when I arrived home to no kitchen and everything in a mess, I decided this was the book for me and would likely cheer me up. 

Well, it did.

As mentioned in an earlier post about DE Stevenson, I am learning humility late in life as I discover and love authors I turned my nose up at years ago.  Stella Gibbons joins these distinguished ranks and I am going to own up and say I have never read Cold Comfort Farm  (I now have a copy waiting to go), despite the fact that the author used to be a regular reader at HIghgate Library where I worked in the 1960s.  She was a very quiet, elegant, charming lady and though I knew who she was, I was not overwhelmed with excitement as I was then a stripling of 18 and not impressed by what I saw as authors of 'nice' books.  I do remember her coming in one morning looking rather cross and her telling me that she had had a wonderful idea for a book which came to her in the middle of the night, only she did not write it down, and now she had forgotten it.  I wonder which one that was?

In Nightingale Wood we meet Viola Withers, a young penniless widow, who is forced to live with her late husband's family in a cold joyless house. Mr Wither, a miser and a misery who rules the roost and who will not let his daughter Madge have a dog, Mrs Wither who thinks Viola is just a common shop girl and Tina, who is in love with Saxon, the chauffeur.

Viola meets and falls in love with Victor Spring, the local Prince Charming, dashing, handsome, rich and clever, but who dallies with her feelings while becoming engaged to the oh so suitable, but shrewish, Phyllis.  Viola finds her life repressive and boring but can see no future other than to stay where she is and moulder away.  She yearns for freedom and happiness:

"She looked across the saltings to where the sea was and as she lifted her face, rosy with the steady smoothing of the cold wind, the sun darted a bright gold beam across the marshes......she heard a strangely thrilling noise....nearer and nearer it came, until suddenly there swept over her head a flock of wild swans, rushing on white gold wings into the sunset.  Laughing with excitement, she ran down the track the follow their flight but the sunset, and tears, dazzled her and she could not see.

They were so beautiful....wouldn't it be wonderful if she could always feel like she had felt when they thundered over her head, not wanting anyone, happy to be quite alone and looking at something as beautiful as those swans?

But the sun had gone behind the clouds again and the wind was getting up, it was nearly half past three and the last bus left at four."

This book is sheer delight from start to finish.  It is funny, witty and amusing, but also sympathetic and gentle, even to the ghastly Mr Withers, who really is a tyrant in his home:

"Mrs Withers came in but he took no notice of her because he had seen her before"

but

"Emmie's a good wife to me, a very good wife, suddenly thought Mr Wither.  And then, like a cold wind - What shall I do when she's gone?"

The story of how the Withers family find love and/or fulfilment and whether Viola marries her Prince Charming or not against all the odds, is just lovely (sorry to overuse this word but cannot think of an alternative), and kept me up till late last night fighting to keep awake in order to finish Nightingale Wood.  Cornflower Books has also reviewed this title so check out what she has to say here .

I will be reading Cold Comfort Farm shortly and understand that in Stella Gibbons, we have another one of these neglected authors who have fallen out of favour.  I gather that she wrote many novels so another name to go on my Keep and Eye out For list and  more joys to come.

With the new Bloomsbury Group imprint reviving authors such as Frank Baker (the simply wonderful and brilliant Miss Hargraves), Ada Leverson and D E Stevenson (Persephone also republishing this author), one can only hope that in due course many more such wonderful writers are brought back to the attention of the reading public.

Off now to check all of Stella Gibbon's output and make a note of all their titles as I am compiling my wish list for my visit to Hay on Wye next month.  I have a sneaky feeling I am going to come back with a bootful of books.

Oh I do hope so....

Istanbul, Topkapi Palace and the Harem

Last year I read the Aviary Gate by Kate Hickman which I reviewed here, and was fascinated and appalled by the life led by the ladies in the harem.  Lavish luxury but all in a gilded cage with no hope of escape or of seeing the outside world and all incredibly claustrophobic.

Well, Kathryn and I visited the Topkapi Palace, stunning grounds and a beautiful building but the best part of the afternoon was when we visited the Harem.

 

This was the living room of the Valide, the Mother of the Sultan who was far and away the most powerful member of the Harem.

 

As you can see, quite stunning but imagine never ever stepping outside the walls.  Even such beautiful surroundings would have palled after a while.  

  

Here is the Court of  the Black Eunuchs.  The opening of the Aviary Gate has a description of a young Ethiopian being kidnapped and how he was turned into such an one.  Not for the faint hearted this read I can tell you now...

More pics and reports over the next few days.