That injudicious napping earlier means I can’t get to sleep now (pah) and so I’ve finished book five – Not to Disturb by Muriel Spark. Is it my tiredness or Spark herself that made this novella so strange? But unmistakably Sparkesque – which, in my book, is a good thing. Thank you Deanna for sending me this a couple of months ago – as with the other novellas this weekend, I’ll write about it in due course. And now I will go to bed…
Author: StuckinaBook
Novella Weekend: Book Four
Oh dear, the shortest book took me the longest time so far – mostly because I fell asleep for a couple of hours. Think a cold might be on its way…
But what a reward when I did awake – this is the best of the four so far. Simply stunning: Paul Gallico’s Love of Seven Dolls. I’ve had The Snow Goose and Jennie on my shelf for years, not to mention the Mrs. Harris books, but somehow I haven’t got around to reading any of those yet – and this one, which only came to my shelves in January, was first to be read. I will read many more, of that I am sure.
Novella Weekend: Book Three
And now I’ve also finished As We Are Now by May Sarton, as recommended by Thomas over at My Porch.
How’s your weekend going?
Novella Weekend: Book Two
Now I have finished my second book, a volume of poetry, and surprised myself by loving it. I almost never read poetry, so I have Peter (aka Dark Puss) to thank for giving me People on a Bridge by Wislawa Szymborska. (Imagine a line through that ‘l’, which makes it a ‘w’ sound… and the ‘w’ is a ‘v’ sound, so think Viswava. And I can’t tell you the joy I’m having saying Szymborska to myself – I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a satisfying surname.)
Novella Weekend: Book One
Finished one book, and currently failing to transfer photo of it from my mobile to the computer… bizarrely, I can’t find a photo of it anywhere online. I’ll add in later. For now, I’ll just say – I’ve finished Echo by Violet Trefusis. My first Trefusis (of the three or four I have on my shelves) and I loved it. More anon.
EDIT: obviously, I now have a photo up!
Novella Weekend: Ready, Steady…
No Miscellany today, as this is the first post of my Novella Weekend. It’s the third one I’ve done, and it’s an idea I’m enjoying. I still haven’t written about two of the three books I read last time. Three was a disappointing number, but the weekend was mostly occupied by my anxiety that I’d got appendicitis (which I didn’t) – here’s hoping this weekend is rather better!
I’ve got a pile of 15 books ready. Obviously I shan’t get through that many, but it’s nice to have a bit of choice. I’ll let you know what I’ve read as and when I’ve read it… and if you’re joining in with me, whether with one novella or ten, then let me know!
Happy weekend, y’all.
Somerset Maugham on Jane Austen’s Letters
Aw, shame that Irene didn’t seem to tempt any of you. But I suspect more people will be intrigued by today’s post – about Jane Austen. Susan in TX very kindly and sweetly sent me A Truth Universally Acknowledged: 33 Great Writers on Why We Read Jane Austen last year, and I’m reading it slowly, savouring it. I’ll write a proper review of it when I’m all done, which could be a while, but it’s the sort of book I’ll want to share bits from now and then. And today I’m quoting from W. Somerset Maugham about Jane Austen’s letters, because I entirely agree with him. I don’t understand the critics who are disappointed by her letters – they’re wonderful. Also, all of the famous bits you’ll have heard quoted (two inches of ivory; three or four families, etc.) are written so very tongue-in-cheek that they should never be taken as Austen’s genuine opinion of herself. Just sayin’. Anyway, over to Maugham:
Many of Jane Austen’s warmest admirers have found her letters disappointing, and have thought they showed that she was cold and unfeeling and that her interests were trivial. I am surprised. They are very natural. Jane Austen never imagined that anyone but Cassandra would read them, and she told her exactly the sort of things she knew would interest her. She told her what people were wearing and how much she had paid for the flowered muslin she had bought, what acquaintances she had made, what old friends she had met and the gossip she had heard
Of late years several collections of letters by eminent authors have been published, and for my part, when I read them, I am now ans then disposed to suspect that the writers had at the back of their minds the notion that one day they might find their way into print. They give me not seldom the impression that they might have been used just as they were in the columns of a literary journal. In order not to annoy the devotees of the recently deceased I will not mention their names, but Dickens has been dead a long time and it is possible to say what one likes of him without offense. Whenever he went on a journey he wrote long letters to his friends in which he described eloquently the sights he had seen and which, as his biographer justly observes, might well have been printed without the alteration of a single word. People were more patient in those days; still one would have thought it a disappointment to receive a letter from a friend who gave you word pictures of mountains and monuments when you wanted to know whether he had come across anyone interesting, what parties he had been to and whether he had been able to get you the books or ties or handkerchiefs you had asked him to bring back.
Quaint Irene
The post title is one for all you Mapp and Lucia lovers, but the book in question is nothing to do with Benson – rather it is To Tell My Story (1948), the autobiography of Dame Irene Vanbrugh. (I’m assuming that her name should be pronounced Eye-reen-ee? Much prettier than Eye-reen, to my mind.) You might not think you’ve heard of her – except from the mentions made of her on my blog, when I’ve noted what I’m currently reading – but she has a certain amount of significance. Once one of the nation’s favourite stage actresses, and one of the first to enter the profession from an upper(ish)-middle-class background, she was Gwendoline in the first The Importance of Being Earnest; co-founded R.A.D.A.; married Dion Boucicault Jr. (son of the playwright); and appeared in the first British colour film. That’s quite a curriculum vitae, isn’t it? And yet what made me seek out Irene’s autobiography was seeing her name in the dramatis personae (gosh, two Latin expressions in one paragraph) in many of AA Milne’s collections of plays. Indeed, this is what she has to say about Milne:
He was a fair-haired, gentle, rather shy personality with a certain detachment of outlook. In his plays and verses he creates a world of his own, peopled with real flesh and blood seen behind a gauze of true fantasy, without being whimsical. The nurseries are warm and cosy, the living rooms comfortable and welcoming, the gardens gay with flowers. You can’t think of them otherwise yet you know if the gauze was rudely pulled asunder and the people were caught up in cold realities they would be true to nature and rise to what might be asked of them.
At first I found him difficult to talk to as he resented my wholehearted devotion to the technique of the older playwrights, which he was inclined to belittle. But it was a joy to me to learn to appreciate his method, and during the years he worked with us we became firm friends.
My curiosity, although piqued by Vanbrugh’s friendship with Milne, certainly went beyond that. As I’ve mentioned recently, I find theatrical history fascinating, especially from the perspective of someone with long and distinguished a stage career as Dame Irene. It was interesting to compare Vanbrugh’s autobiography with that other Dame and doyenne of the stage – Judi Dench. A lot has changed (Vanbrugh addresses, for instance, whether or not it is proper for a girl to become an actress, and there seems to be a far more rigidly observed hierarchy from leading lady down) but a lot is the same. There is a continuing love of fellow actors, and of acting, that shines from the page.
Unlike Dench’s book And Furthermore, this isn’t simply a string of interesting anecdotes. Although Vanbrugh rarely delves into her private life too deeply, she does talk about becoming a widow. Much of To Tell My Story moves away from tales of specific performances to more general, and very fascinating, ruminations upon all manner of aspects of acting – from etiquette to creating a part to being in a revival, etc. etc.
It must be confessed that Vanbrugh was probably a more natural actress than she was a writer. Most of the time her prose is serviceable, with occasional shimmer or glisten. It certainly isn’t clunky, and when she turns to describing characters or plays she is very insightful and doesn’t waste a word. But I’m not sure she could turn her hand to fiction (although at least she wouldn’t colour her prose purple). It came as something of a surprise, then, when her writing developed in leaps and bounds for chapter 2. It told of her first meeting with J.M. Barrie. Suddenly there was wit in her phrasing, piquancy in her portraits, and more than a pinch or two of irony….
…all of which was explained when I got to the end of that chapter, and she confessed that it was, in fact, Barrie himself who had penned it. It is a neat trick, and you realise why the portrait of him had been somewhat more amusing and less charitable than most of her other character descriptions. It does, however, throw doubt upon the following paragraph, at the beginning of that chapter:
Up to now I had never “created” a part. I had been various young ladies but the characters had all passed through other hands before I had the fingering of them. What was expected of me was to reproduce the style of my predecessors, to be so like them in my voice, manner, elegancies, deficiencies, dimples and the way I clicked my teeth, that if their parents were in front they could still think they were gazing on their child. It is a commonplace that nothing of the actor survives his passing from the scene but I wish to stab this statement with a hairpin. If he created a part we go on reproducing him in it so carefully that it is still him you see in it rather than us. We are dressed up in him as in old garments. I wanted not to copy a picture but to paint one, to put something of myself into a part to present my own deficiencies if I had nothing else. I longed to click my own teeth in my own way.
Did Barrie write this, or Vanbrugh? Is it something Vanbrugh believed? I knew it was a convention of 16th and 17th century drama, but had assumed it had died out by the 20th… any theatre historians able to tell me?
I must confess one of the reasons I loved reading To Tell My Story – and I definitely loved reading it – is that it is unusual. You know me – I do enjoy reading things a bit out of the ordinary, which you wouldn’t find on the 3 for 2 table at Waterstones. Most of you are the same, I think. It’s a lovely feeling, to rescue a book like this from forgotten corners of dusty bookshops and neglected shelves – and to find much to love.
I want to leave you with two excerpts from To Tell My Story, showing that Vanbrugh’s writing – although not always perfect – definitely has its moments. The first, from a toast she gave at an event to celebrate Shakespeare’s birth, is funny; the second is moving and sad. I do recommend that you hunt this book out, if you have any interest in the theatre of days gone by. It’s a wonderful resource, as well as a captivating life.
During the twenty-six years of happy married life with Dion Boucicault I always stated my occupation as ‘married’, but now I shall boldly describe my occupation as ‘actress’ and if it is questioned I shall say that it was openly acknowledged in public on Shakespeare’s birthday at Stratford-on-Avon, if necessary mentioning it was some years after his death to prevent any further confusion occurring as to my possible age.
* * *
During the fourteen months of the run in town (an immense run in those days) [of His House in Order by Pinero] a poignant incident stands out to me. Bella Pateman, who played the part of Lady Ridgeley, came to my dressing-room one evening and said, “I went to see my doctor today; he tells me I must have an operation for cancer. Isn’t it bad luck?” The remembrance of the way she she those last four words have always remained with me. It showed how in real life the deepest tragedies are often taken so simply and with such few words so unlike the way one might imagine anybody would receive their death sentence, which indeed it was.
Many and Various (including two readalongs!)
One of those scramble-around-putting-various-things-I-probably-ought-to-have-mentioned-before type of posts, so get your mind set to miscellaneous…
1.) Another readalong idea that sprung out of the incredibly productive Virago Reading Week, and one that actually involves a book that’s in print (I know! Imagine!) – Rachel (Book Snob), Claire (Paperback Reader) and I were discussing how we wanted to read more Elizabeth von Arnim, and have settled upon The Caravaners. We’d love you to join in – we plan to post thoughts in the week beginning 28th March, so a bit of time to get your hands on a copy and read along with us. Hope you can!
2.) More of an informal readalong – this weekend I’m planning another novella reading weekend. Well, short books of any variety – I’m thinking of branching out and grabbing a couple of poetry books off my shelf. Why not join in with me? Whether you’re reading one novella or twelve, I’ve love some short-book company.
3.) I remembered that I hadn’t done the draw for William – I really must stop having these prize draws and forgetting to draw the name. Patch has gone to bed now, so a random number generator is yet again coming to my aid – congratulations to A Bookish Space! Let me know your address, and I’ll get William in the post to you…
4.) And finally – Wikio have let me know the latest of their rankings, and it does seem to be rather more book-focused than before – hurrah!
1 Charlie’s Diary 2 Making it up 3 Book Chick City 4 Stuck In A Book 5 An Awfully Big Blog Adventure 6 Savidge Reads 7 Other Stories 8 Cornflower Books 9 booktwo.org 10 My Favourite Books 11BubbleCow 12 Asylum 13 Reading Matters 14 Vulpes Libris 15 Pepys’ Diary 16 The Book Smugglers 17 State of Independents 18Baroque in Hackney 19 Elizabeth Baines 20 Joan Lennon Ranking made by Wikio
TV Book Club Outing!
A little while ago I was asked, along with four other bloggers, to see the TV Book Club being recorded in London – and to meet the presenters. Naturally I was beside myself with excitement, and sent off a ‘yes’ to charming Richard who invited me. Before long I was meeting Claire (aka Paperback Reader) at Paddington for sushi, and then heading out to Cactus Studios. We didn’t even get lost, so that’s something to celebrate.The other bloggers there were David of Follow the Thread (whom I had met a couple of times before), Keith from Books and Writers , and Cherry of Cherry Mischevious. Clicking on those three links will take you to their thoughts about the day – because they’ve been a bit more organised than me. I’ll pop in a link to Claire’s post later today. EDIT: here it is!
I have seen a few programmes being recorded before, including My Life in Books earlier in February, but this one doesn’t actually have a studio audience. We felt very privileged – sitting on chairs, leaning against the counter of Saturday Kitchen (which, in turns out, is filmed in the same studio), and watching the presenters discussing Bleed For Me by Michael Robotham. It’s a gory thriller set in a small Somerset village. A bit close to home. I’ve got to say, despite the presenters and VT book group raving about it, nothing about the novel appeals to this squeamish reader. Although, having said that, Jo Brand assured me afterwards that she loved it despite being squeamish.
That’s right – Jo Brand spoke to me! We were invited to the Green Room for tea and cake aftewards (it was Charlotte’s birthday and she kindly shared her delicious birthday cake – I was pleased to see that the stick-thin, uber-glamorous TV types still ate cake. I was worried it would just be me cramming it into my mouth in the corner.) Jo Brand, Meera Syal, and Dave Spikey came and had a nice, friendly chat with us. Jo Brand is my favourite comedienne, and I was *so* excited to meet her – I tried to keep my cool and be nonchalant, but I don’t think I’ve ever really successfully grasped nonchalance… at least I didn’t break down in tears, sobbing about how much I love her.
As for the show – I love that the presenters (who also include Ade Edmondson and Laila Rouass) are passionate about books, and that this programme is shown. TV Channels seem to be waking up to the fact that a lot of people love books. I just wish the TV Book Club, in many ways admirable, would have the courage to avoid dumbing down at all. Not in their choice of books – they seem great in general – but in the format of the programme. Nigel Havers was great on the episode I saw, and the pre-recordered VTs etc. are usually fun and interesting, but please let’s cut some of the celebrities coming on to shift their biographies. Case in point – Ken Barlow from Coronation Street flogging his book; the first thing he said was “I’ve never been much of a reader.” BUT this is a small niggle with the show, which overall I think is great.
Oh, and then we were given a bunch of books to take home, and a goody bag from Specsavers (who sponsor the show, and were responsible for us being there – so I’m going to shamefully advertise them. I wear Specsavers’ glasses myself, and they’re pretty fab.) Thanks Richard and Candace who arranged it; Amanda Ross (most powerful person in the book industry!) for showing us around the technical bits; Charlotte for giving us cake, and Jo Brand for making a little dream of mine come true.