Forging an Art

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 The Awkward Oates: Why Judith Reads James
presented at The Fourth International Conference of the
Henry James Society, July 2008

Joyce Carol Oates’s short story “My Warszawa: 1980” follows the journey of well-respected academician Judith Horne as she travels to and within Poland to participate in an international conference on American culture.  She has a vague connection to Poland, with remote family members who were killed in Auschwitz and a Jewish ancestry that can be seen in her features, but she considers these facts unimportant to who she is at the moment.  She travels with her lover, who is as remote emotionally as her dead forbears are physically.  The emotional connections she makes with the people and land begin to affect her well-ordered and controlled life, including her relationship with him.  As they sit side by side on the plane to Poland, he attends to his work as journalist, typewriter on his lap, and Judith gazes at the landscape, an opened book on hers.  It is Henry James’s The Awkward Age, unread, chosen by Judith with a logic she cannot recall.  Why does Oates give James to Judith, and why does she choose this novel in particular to influence her?  Nanda’s story is a warning to Judith, a red flag that unfolds as the younger girl’s ruin proceeds before her eyes, and Judith realizes that the man she loves will never marry her, just as Vanderbank refuses to propose to Nanda.  Neither man is comfortable with a woman who is corrupted by knowledge that might undermine his need for authority in the relationship.  Nanda understands her position too late, but Judith has time to reflect on her situation, and Oates leaves the story unfinished, with Judith on a plane home with Carl but not definitively resigned to the relationship.

In 1980, Oates and her husband completed a six-week tour of Eastern Europe that included a demanding schedule of sixteen public appearances.  The notes she took during this trip became several of the short stories that comprise the collection Last Days (1984), including “My Warszawa: 1980.”  Biographer Greg Johnson mentions the awareness of her own Jewish heritage that began to affect Oates during this visit, so it is clear that Judith’s experience is based on that of Oates.  Oates, however, does not document a breakdown or anything close to a breakdown during her travels, although she does lament the need to perform and the stress that comes with performance, a lethargy that comes with Judith’s experience as well.

James’s documented influence on Oates makes his work obvious reading material for a character based on her.  In a 1978 Paris Review interview, she includes him on a list of authors who have influenced her, and in an interview with Library Journal six years earlier she exclaims “I love Henry James.  I love Henry James so much.”  She has called him “a serious writer” and wishes that “we could truly see into James’s head.”  She rewrote The Turn of the Screw twice, and she says of her 1972 version, it is a “testament of my love and extreme devotion” to the original author.  Her short story “The Sacred Marriage” is clearly a revision of The Aspern Papers, and Christopher Newman, she reveals, influenced the characters in Bellefleur.  She collects rare first editions of James’s work, and in her journal records praise for James’s preface to The Princess Casamassima: “how beautifully James puts it! I felt a kinship to him at once.”  In a 1993 Playboy interview, she was asked to consider who she would choose to play her in a movie version of her life, and offered,  “the ghost of Henry James,” a “great master, he’s up there, he’s like Shakespeare.”  Her idol appears in her most recent short story collection, Wild Nights!, which imagines the final days of several famous authors she believes worthy of attention.  Judith with James makes sense, and The Awkward Age is the best influence because of the similarities to Judith’s situation.

In “My Warszawa: 1980,” Judith travels to Poland to complete a ten day lecture tour on contemporary American culture.  She is respected and courted by the Polish writers and students who see her as a savior amidst the Polish government’s restrictions on their own work.  Everyone thinks she is severe and unemotional, and “persons – almost always men” are “bitterly jealous of her reputation” (433).  Judith fulfills her obligations as expected, but along the way becomes disillusioned with her relationship with Carl, who has been her lover for ten years, or, Judith considers, maybe twelve.  He accompanies her but is preoccupied with his own work and does not attend her lectures.  He is not too busy, however, to tell her how she should behave or how she should feel.  She is unable to confide in him her upset over the destruction of the Polish Jews during the Holocaust or of her growing emotional attachment to her guides and the land itself, although she makes several attempts to do so.  He accuses her of becoming “unbalanced” and sentimental about the past, and their arguments lead her to realize the distance that has always existed between them.  His refusal to commit to her is her primary concern, and she feels like she has waited all those years for nothing.  Unlike her revision of The Turn of the Screw, in which Oates aims to find a conclusion to the original, this story is left unresolved, and Judith’s decision regarding her relationship with Carl remains a mystery.

Judith and Nanda are haunted, in a sense, by ancestors they have never met, both to their benefit and detriment. Weeks before the trip, Carl wonders if Judith will be upset by a visit to Warsaw.  She is immediately offended: “as if she were Jewish – a Jewess!” (436).  Her ancestry becomes an issue of blood and guilt, one she has no time to consider, as she does not believe herself religious.  Her Polish hosts, however, are fascinated by her Jewish appearance (kinky hair; dark, uneasy eyes) and her Biblical Hebrew name.  Her family history is visible to others and an influence on their behavior towards her, much like Nanda’s resemblance to her grandmother affects Longdon’s treatment of her.  Nanda has never known Lady Julia, but without the affection Longdon remembers for her grandmother, Nanda would not have the opportunity he provides for her when Vanderbank rejects her.  Both women inherit acceptance among those who revere their predecessors, Judith with the Poles and Nanda with Longdon, but the men they love remain disinterested.  In Nanda’s case, the social ideals set in her grandmother’s time are those to which Vanderbank holds her, so Judith, reading about Nanda’s unknowing failure to adhere to outdated standards, considers that her family history might not be something that would enhance her relationship with Carl.  She downplays the affect her connections with the Holocaust have on her, and does not feel comfortable confiding her feelings about it to him.

Judith and Nanda choose reading material that undermines their romantic (or potentially romantic) relationships. Judith reads The Awkward Age at night in the hotel room she shares with Carl.  One evening when he is out at a meeting, she is alone with the book, considering her future.  She realizes that she has “fastened her thoughts helplessly” (454) on a man who does not love her in return.  She is “humiliated by her love for him” (449).  Nanda does the same, reserving her affections for Vanderbank, who ultimately leaves her waiting for a marriage proposal that he will never offer.  Carl questions Judith about the book, and comments that James is “heartbreaking” if you read him “correctly” (461).  When she assures him that she reads most books “correctly” he agrees, adding sarcastic remarks about her superior intelligence, calling her “the queen” and the “star of the conference.”  He is obviously jealous of her success, and Judith tries to discuss this with him.  He walks away as she insists, “you are jealous.  Don’t deny it” (469).  Like Vanderbank, he is threatened by a woman whose knowledge is equal or superior to his own.  Vanderbank makes a point of telling Nanda that her mother is a “fixed star,” and that her “intelligence . . . will always have a price” (385).  Carl’s notion of reading this particular novel “correctly” implies that he has read it and is concerned that she understands Nanda’s loss as a direct result of her intelligence.  Nanda’s loss of Vanderbank and the possibility of marriage and motherhood in general is heartbreaking if that is what a reader believes a woman needs to be happy.  Her knowledge has led to this downfall, so that same reader would necessarily agree that knowledge ruins innocence, is a threat to male authority, and a barrier to a woman’s happiness.  Judith’s “correct” reading of the novel means something very different than Carl’s.  She is “poisoned” by the story much like Nanda is ruined by reading Vanderbank’s dirty French novel.  While Nanda’s reading material makes her unfit for Vanderbank, Judith’s makes Carl unfit for her.  The social knowledge provided by their books, in both cases, allows the women to see other options for their futures, although those futures will not include the romantic marriages they want and expect because the partners they prefer do not value them enough to deserve them.

Books are not the only poisonous influences on Nanda and Judith’s carefully constructed environments.  While the Duchess points out that Nanda’s social environment is a “mal’aria” (195) (reminiscent of Daisy Miller’s physical and social ailments), and Longdon notes that the girl breathes “a different air” (115) than her socially perfect grandmother, Judith recognizes a physical threat and eventually, the emotional one, on her own, shortly after her arrival in Poland.  At first, the “layers of smoke-cloud” (437) that collect from constant cigarette smoking and poor ventilation make her sick.  The odor of fried onions and potatoes become her constant companions, hanging thickly in the air of the hotel, meeting rooms, and restaurants along with the smoke.  Even the student guides cough as they wave their cigarettes in the air to punctuate conversation.  As Judith’s attempts to communicate with Carl are stifled, he eventually shifts the blame for their problems on the physical environment: “we’ve been poisoned by this place” (470).  Instead of taking responsibility for his part in the failure of the relationship, Carl uses the physical and political climate of the country as convenient scapegoats.  The students and academics in Poland, desperate for public and personal freedom, cling to their American counterparts pathetically, which makes Judith’s experience more stressful, but Carl’s refusal to consider that he might also be a cause of her distress tells her that her acceptance of a role created by Carl in order to satisfy his own needs and expectations, while ignoring hers, has poisoned her potential happiness within the relationship.  Like Vanderbank, Carl maintains a “high moral tone” (433) that is unwavering in spite of the pain he so obviously causes the woman he claims to admire.  Judith considers that amidst the pollution and filth in the city, a more political and personal contaminant is in the air, echoed by the whispers and soft pleas of Polish attendees at parties and meetings: “the very air is poisoned” (451).  Her bloodshot eyes notice the stained bathroom tiles in the hotel, the preponderance of brown teeth in the desperate smiles of tour guides, and the dirty ashtrays that litter tables everywhere.  Nanda remains innocently unaware of the miasma created by the inappropriate speech and behavior of her mother’s social set until it is too late.  When Judith recognizes that her romantic situation is similar to Nanda’s, she is encouraged to struggle against the weight of it, painful as such a process proves to be, so that she might avoid the same fate.

Judith works her resistance with language, a medium in which she is expert and expects to feel comfortable, if not superior, while Nanda remains innocent in the midst of the word games and indirect speech of her mother’s friends.  Judith’s attempts to communicate with the Poles are thwarted by the language difference, although the students and professionals she meets use a passable English.  She finds the Polish language inaccessible and frustrating, and experiences a physical distress at the sound of it.  This frustration is reflected in her conversations with Carl, during which she asks for clarity and simplicity regarding the terms of their relationship, and his responses, when he cares to respond, are the opposite. “Don’t speak in riddles” (439), she insists, irritated by his evasive speech.  Longdon, like Judith, begs for explanations, lost in a social whirl so different from that which he knew years ago, but Nanda never considers that there is something to question or clarify.  Judith finds that “it is unnerving to journey into a country whose language is so very foreign” (441), referring as much to the emotional and personal life she has ignored for so long as the external, physical experience in Poland.  She repeatedly tells Carl, “I don’t understand” but his reply is always “are we arguing?” as if arguing would be unacceptable in his vision of a romantic relationship.  Like Vanderbank, he avoids the question, instead “rummaging” and “rooting” to change the subject, refusing to acknowledge his partner’s needs.  Vanderbank, who confesses himself noisy as a dozen birds during his final meeting with Nanda, is never pressed directly by her about his feelings and intentions towards her, but Judith wants more control over her future than Nanda has over hers.  She accuses Carl of substituting empty words for other words that are more emotionally invested, such as “I love you” or “I hate you” and insists that he does not love her after proclaiming that she in fact loves him.  Her declaration of love prompts a lukewarm response: “Oh you, do you? Do you?” (468)  He smiles coldly and she soon comes to a point Nanda never reaches: “I won’t demean myself for nothing! – for you!” (469)

Nanda’s family and friends leave her clueless about her pending troubles, but Judith is warned.  Rushing to one of the many meetings she attends during her stay, Judith, understandably distracted, nearly walks into a glass door.  She thinks it is an automatic door and pays no attention to it until one of her guides calls to her in warning.  Near the end of their trip, Carl walks into such a door as Judith watches, “without love,” unable or unwilling to stop him, and does not move towards him after he slams against the glass and is hurt.  Nanda slams against the “polished glass” (373) that divides her and Vanderbank, but does not want to bring up her distress at the indefinite nature of their relationship because it would be like “forcing a disfigurement or hurt” (380) on him.  Judith has no such concern for Carl.  She is forewarned, not only by her Polish guide but by her Jamesian one as well.  Longdon assures Nanda that she has “a margin for accidents, for disappointments and recoveries” (113) because of her age and inexperience.  Judith, like Longdon, has no such margin.  She worries that like Nanda, she has “outlived the period of her availability” (453).  Unlike Nanda, she does not have to make a definite decision regarding her unwed state.  While Mrs. Brookenham insists “we see our mistakes too late” (237), Judith sees hers before it is too late to correct.

Works Consulted

James, Henry. The Awkward Age. London: Heinemann, 1899.

Johnson, Greg. Invisible Writer: A Biography of Joyce Carol Oates. New York: Dutton, 1998.

Oates, Joyce Carol. Conversations with Joyce Carol Oates. Ed. Greg Johnson. New York: Ontario Rev. P, 2006.

—. Conversations with Joyce Carol Oates. Ed. Lee Milazzo. Jackson, Miss.: UP of Mississippi, 1989.

—. The Journal of Joyce Carol Oates 1973-1982. Ed. Greg Johnson. New York: Ecco-Harper, 2007.

—. “My Warszawa: 1980.” High Lonesome: New & Selected Stories 1966-2006. New York: Ecco-Harper, 2006.

It’s not Edith Wharton or Henry James, but the setting sure is.  Anna Godbersen’s teen soap set in Gilded Age (1899) Manhattan is an easy read, unlike Wharton and James, and the story isn’t original, but there is something about that cliffhanger that had me putting the sequel on hold as soon as I got in to work this morning.  I really don’t care about Elizabeth or Penelope, though – I want to see what Diana (who reads du Maurier’s Trilby behind her mother’s back – what is up with that?) and Henry are up to, and Lina, well, Lina is in quite a situation herself and we don’t know what she really thinks of it.
Four days and the sequel later – the drama continues, as there promises to be another in the series.  The story proves more predictable as it moves on, and the glittering details are only so entertaining.  There are a few too convenient plot twists that seem a bit contrived, but that is true soap opera fashion (unlike James, of course) in the same vein as Dynasty or Dallas.  The part that is hardest to accept, and perhaps I am just old and jaded and here is where it shows, is early on when Elizabeth’s new life in California is described as so different from her past.  In spite of the difference, she was happy, because she “had followed her heart, and no one ever regrets that.”  I haven’t snorted so loudly in many days, I can tell you that, after reading that line.

*courtesy of Romantic Times Book Reviews, 8/2008:
Chick Lit:
Klasky, Mindy. Magic and the Modern Girl
Contemporary:
Allison, Liz. Risking Her Heart
Dailey, Janet. Searching for Santa
Garbera, Katherine. Bare Witness
James, Julie. Just the Sexiest Man Alive
Kauffman, Donna, et. al. To All a Good Night
Martin, Deirdre. Power Play
McLane, LuAnn. Driven by Desire
Mortimer, Carole, et. al. Christmas Weddings
Phillips, Carly. Lucky Charm
Plumley, Lisa. Home for the Holidays
Smith, Sally. Christmas at Sea Pines Cottage
Wilde, Lori. Addicted to Love
Erotica:
Bast, Anya. The Chosen Sin
Burton, Jaci. Riding Temptation
McIntyre, Amanda. The Diary of Cozette
Mack, Noelle. Nights in Black Lace
MacNeal, Melissa, et. al. Unwrap Me
Page, Sharon. Hot Silk
Terry, Kimberly Kaye. Get Your Sexy On
Fantasy:
Linnea, S.L. Treasure of Eden
Sagara, Michelle. Cast in Fury
Wilson, C.L. King of Sword and Sky
Futuristic:
Maverick, Liz. Irreversible
Historical:
Basso, Adrienne. The Christmas Countess
Davidson, Carolyn, et. al. The Magic of Christmas
Dennis, Kathrynn. Shadow Rider
Fletcher, Donna. Under the Highlander’s Spell
Gaston, Diane. Scandalizing the Ton
Goodger, Jane. Merry Christmas
Guhrke, Laura Lee. Secret Desires of a Gentleman
Ivie, Jackie. A Knight Well Spent
Johnson, Alissa. As Luck Would Have It
Kleypas, Lisa. Seduce Me at Sunrise
Kleypas, Lisa. A Wallflower Christmas
Laurens, Stephanie, et. al. It Happened One Night
Lawson, Anthea. Passionate
MacNish, Tracy. Veiled Passions
McCarty, Sarah. Promises Reveal
Miller, Linda Lael. The Rustler
Pickens, Andrea. The Scarlet Spy
Plumley, Lisa. et. al. Hallowe’en Husbands
Quinn, Julia. Mr. Cavendish, I Presume
Russell, Gerri. Warrior’s Lady
Simmons, Deborah. The Dark Viscount
Small, Bertrice. The Captive Heart
Historical Fiction:
Anand, Valerie. The House of Allerbrook
Gantt, DeVa. A Silent Ocean
Lehane, Dennis. The Given Day
Inspirational:
Bateman, Tracey. Dangerous Heart
del Fabbro, Vanessa. Fly Away Home
Hatcher, Robin Lee. Bundle of Joy
Mainstream Fiction:
Adams, Kylie. Beautiful Liars
Campbell, Drusilla. Wildwood
Chidley, Elise. Your Roots Are Showing
Goldreich, Gloria. Dinner with Anna Karenina
Lopez, Lorraine. The Gifted Gabaldon Sisters
Macomber, Debbie. A Cedar Cove Christmas
Michaels, Fern. Collateral Damage
Villas, James. Dancing in the Low Country
Mystery:
Albert, Susan Wittig. The Tale of Briar Bank
Allan, Barbara. Antiques Flee Market
Carl, JoAnna. The Chocolate Snowman Murders
Coyle, Cleo. Espresso Shot
Davidson, Eileen. Death in Daytime
Davis, Krista. The Diva Runs Out of Thyme
Fluke, Joanne, et. al. Candy Cane Murder
Lamb, John J. The Clockwork Teddy
Lilley, Kathryn. A Killer Workout
Sefton, Maggie. Fleece Navidad
Sprinkle, Patricia. Daughter of Deceit
Washburn, Livia J. The Christmas Cookie Killer
Webb, Peggy. Elvis and the Dearly Departed
Paranormal:
Adair, Cherry. Night Fall
Banks, L.A. Bite the Bullet
Cherry, Rowena. Knight’s Fork
Davidson, MaryJanice, et. al. Mysteria Lane
Delacroix, Claire. Fallen
Erwin, Sherri. Naughty or Nice
Harris, Charlaine, et. al. Wolfsbane and Mistletoe
Inclan, Jessica. Intimate Beings
Knight, Deidre. Red Fire
Kohler, Sharie. Kiss of a Dark Moon
Krinard, Susan. Come the Night
Leigh, Lora, et. al. The Magical Christmas Cat
Lenox, Kim. Night Falls Darkly
MacAlister, Katie. Up In Smoke
Mead, Richelle. Succubus Dreams
Nash, Joy. Immortals: the Crossing
Ward, J.R. The Black Dagger Brotherhood: An Insider’s Guide
Warren, J.D. Crate & Peril
Romantic Suspense:
Alden, Jami. Caught
Butcher, Shannon K. No Escape
Forster, Suzanne. The Private Concierge
Gerard, Cindy. Show No Mercy
Graham, Heather. Deadly Night
Griffin, Laura. Thread of Fear
London, Cait. For Her Eyes Only
McKade, Maureen. Where There’s Fire
Suspense:
Brennan, Allison. Playing Dead
Cornwell, Patricia. Scarpetta
Dittrich, Stacy. The Devil’s Closet
Gardiner, Meg. Kill Chain
Johansen, Iris. Dark Summer
Kava, Alex. Exposed
Marsella, Celeste. Defenseless
Teller, Joseph. The Tenth Case
Vampire:
Ashley, Amanda. Night Master
Chance, Karen. Midnight’s Daughter
Hepsen, Mina. Under the Blood Red Moon
Sands, Lynsay. The Rogue Hunter
Shayne, Maggie. Angel’s Pain
Whiteside, Diane. Bond of Darkness

Who knew that watching grown men in creme stick costumes race each other in the midst of a baseball game could be so much fun?  Rock on, Acme, for some original entertainment.
Oh, wow – moral dilemma – I just noticed that August 13 is NASCAR Night at Canal Park, but it’s Kurt Busch who is making an appearance and signing autographs.  I can’t stand Kurt Busch – he’s a good driver but what a jerk, and Tony Stewart hates him.  Do I go and get his autograph, because, you know, he is a series driver, or not, because he is Kurt Busch?

Too much grease, just enough sun, a nice breeze, and three trophies for my Barbara-doll and our big mouse Bella!  I won something, too – I was the only adult in the lemon eating contest, and I won, but I was the only one who actually ate the whole lemon, and I think I freaked the teenage judge out a little.  I won what was purportedly an inflatable lizard; however, during the blow-up process it revealed itself as a butterfly.  I love the fair.

Highlights from 7.20.08:
* A mini-Cooper beside us in the very muddy parking lot, which is well and truly in the middle of a cornfield.  This is how you know you aren’t at a NASCAR race.
* Sitting at the bottom of the keyhole in turn four, where Dominguez lost it and Moraes and Manning got into it.
*The rush of the cars under us as we crossed the bridge to the Infield.
*The roar of the cars over us as we walked through the tunnel to the Grandstand.
*The fuss about the alleged ‘fight’ between Danica and Milka on Friday.  Talking and tossing a towel is not a fight.  Throwing helmets a la Cale Yarborough and the Allison brothers is. 
*The tough break for my boy Marco, who was was not the cause but the victim of a Turn 12 incident involving Foyt, Wheldon, and Wilson as well.
*The blocked exits after the race, which defied explanation, and the Cincinnati teenagers who ran intel between officials and cars to let us know what was going on, and offered us hot dogs during the two hour wait in the stifling heat.
*The very young and clearly skilled Ryan Briscoe taking the checkered flag for the second time, full of excitement and appreciation for the win. 

In July Book Page, where she talks about the creation of My Sister, My Love.

My aunt, on various extremely effective pain medications, told my mother over the phone that she, my mother, was just there in the hospital with a “tribe of beautician friends.”  My mother did hair back in the sixties when she finished high school, before she married, and was in the car with my dad and me on our way to the Indy Car race during the phone call.  For some reason, “tribe of beautician friends” sounds, um, maybe like a good book title, or maybe a song a la the B52s.

This is so funny that I had to buy it instead of read it at Borders, because I was laughing and snorting so obnoxiously that I thought the other store patrons would run me out.  I was impressed that James had two shout outs during this amusing tirade against lemming-ness (my term, not Lander’s, thank you very much):
1. number four on the ‘white annotated bibliography:’ Henry James, all books. “If you send me to a desert island, just make sure I have a page of James’s delicate prose in my back pocket.  I promise you it can keep me entertained and thinking for months.”
2. under ‘liberal arts degrees,’ specifically as to how such a degree can help one sound smart at parties: it all begins by saying, “Reading Henry James was the most rewarding part of undergrad.”

I did find something utterly unbelievable within this fine text, again referring to higher education as a means to becoming the star of the party:  ”They can also impress their friends at parties by referencing Jacques Lacan or Slavoj Zizek in a conversation about American Idol.”  I would run screaming from anyone who mentioned these names outside of an academic context (and even then, I would be nervous) but then again, if the other partygoers have no idea that the one attempting to impress them is referring to frightening figures of French psychoanalysis/philosophy (emphasis on the ‘psycho’) and Slovenian philosophy/Marxism/Stalinism/psychoanalysis (once again, emphasis on the ‘psycho’) they might be impressed or merely annoyed, thinking that the speaker is making such names up.

(keep up on the stuff white people like a la email)

*Good things about the Newport trip:
the actual conference
swimming, collecting shells, and watching small children scoop jellyfish into their buckets at Gooseberry Beach
the Cliff Walk, and the surfers in the mornings 
the Redwood Library, the oldest lending library in America
amazing food and service (and entertaining and enlightening dinner companions) at the White Horse Tavern
the stunning architecture of the Newport Casino, and having dinner out by the lawns of the International Tennis Hall of Fame with an expert on said architecture
a Denny Hamlin look-a-like at O’Hare 
the bus tour, led by the opening keynote, James Yarnall (a La Farge scholar), which included sites personally relevant to James and his family and friends
peppermint stick ice cream at the Newport Creamery 
the purple water on the shore of Easton’s Beach
 

*Bad things about the Newport trip:
trolleys in Newport are never on time
vapid girls from U.S. Concepts who rode the shuttle with me from the airport to the city; I have never heard the words “mani,” “pedi,” and “Kashi” used so much within a forty-five minute period
the people (or something like) who sat beside me on the planes
the ‘accommodations’ in the freshman dorm, including the nonstop air conditioning and a window shade that would not stay down; I had to tie it to a chair
bad food and lousy service at the Red Parrot, as well as a patron at the table beside me who kept blowing her nose obnoxiously

Latest review at BSC

Alison Weir‘s latest delve into Tudor drama was great company on my recent plane trip.  With a very large Irishman insisting I take his business card in case I became lonely (his words) on one side of me, and an older Chinese lady snoring against my other side, I was happy to have brought something of interest, and as I suspected, this volume, the second of two fiction works from the bestselling biographer, was a dream.  Focusing on Elizabeth’s life from toddlerhood to the beginning of her reign as queen, Weir settles sufficient time and space on this developmental period in Elizabeth’s life.   Weir takes liberty, as fiction writers will, with a few areas of Elizabeth’s life, but documents them as such in her note at the end of the books, during which she also remarks that “it has been sheer joy being able to write about her.”

Every year, my dad’s father’s people have a reunion picnic during the fourth of July weekend.  One of the highlights is an auction of items donated by attendees, to raise money to pay for the next summer’s party.  This way, no one pays admission to the park (swimming and mini golf); it’s covered by auction funds and we all bring food to handle the hungry crowd. Since my granddad’s people are originally from Alabama (he was born there), this is what I came up with for my auction donation:  The Alabama Cooler.  It included: hush puppy mix, cornbread mix, blackberry jelly, Brer Rabbit molasses, black-eyed peas, a toy cap rifle, chocolate covered pecans, and cow tails candies, all in a NASCAR cooler.  I think my dad was pleased with my creativity, and I teased him a lot because he admitted he wasn’t wearing a belt, so I was safe, but I think he liked the hassling more than he would admit.  I tried to get hold of a confederate flag, but I tell you, I asked in a few places about the availability of one and I might as well have said I was in the KKK – which of course I am not.  That’s Ohio for you.  

A family friend from church, died on June 29 at only 52 years old.  At his memorial service yesterday morning, his brother, who could be his twin except for the curl in his red hair, mentioned some goofy times they had together, along with the privilege he gained by having an older brother who led a clean life in the seventies.  Since Dave didn’t drink or use drugs, his little brother had a trusted escort to concerts where such activity was rampant.  He was able to see music legends in the making, and was grateful that Dave’s decisions made his own life more enjoyable.  That was Dave, though, and while we weren’t close, I remember a summer at the pool with my son, running into Dave and his boys several times and spending the afternoon talking about books, writing, church, parenthood – and feeling a sense of safety with him, a sense that he was genuine and open and honest about who he was, what he was about, and dedicated to enjoying his life with Sarah and his boys.  He and Sarah have always been involved with the church community, offering their time and many talents, and serving as role models for those of us who took a little longer and were reluctant to throw ourselves into some of the more time and energy consuming areas (i.e. teaching Sunday school).  Dave was a good guy, which is not something I can say about many people I know.  
Dave’s Books

Very random:

-playing Super Smash Brothers Melee with my son, who turned 17 on July 1, on an irregular basis, which is good, because I could beat at those sandbags for music CDs for hours
-trying not to tear up my poison ivy, which makes my arm look like I was attacked by a rabid dog
-the ex buying me a tres adorable Totoro keychain and The Gunslinger Born graphic novel
-visiting special collections at KSU with the little one (who is nearly as tall as I am) to see Evelyn Garnaut Smalley’s The Henry James Yearbook, which is very adorable in concept but really engaging once opened. How to find my own copy . . . that will be a trick
-understanding completely why my daughter watched all five DVDs of Angelic Layer in three days; but clueless as to the appeal of iCarly
-interviewing for and winning a transfer to the branch library I have been after since the manager encouraged me to go to library school over eight years ago, and one of my regular patrons at the main library bringing me a present on my last day there (this past Wednesday): the new Fruits Basket Sticker Book.
-going to the library to see HeartBEAT Afrika (Olugbala Manns and Elec Simon) with my daughter and having so much fun.  These two can make a drum out of anything – ladders and bellies included.  
-reading Kim Wilkins’ The Veil of Gold and not enjoying it at all, but feeling compelled to finish it to review. I am so not taking this to Newport with me; Rosa and her boring bear are not ruining my James experience.
-so excited to go to Barberton Speedway tonight with my dad; I need to write about racing, it’s just that time. Junior’s show car will be there, and after a day spent first at a funeral, then taking my daughter to horseback riding lessons, and finally at a picnic where my grandmother used to preside and I now have no desire to attend (and will only because to do otherwise would hurt my uncle’s feelings, and my grandma would not be happy if I did that) – I will be so ready to just hang with the dad and veg out over racing.
-picnic number two tomorrow; film at eleven. Definitely worth telling, as it is my dad’s people, aka The Alabama Gang.

After much swearing and chasing of my cat off my keyboard, the Pullman reviews are up at BSC.

Lyra’s Oxford
Once Upon a Time in the North

At 1124 pages, Kristin Lavransdatter is quite an investment.  It isn’t an easy creature to lug about, and it doesn’t fit well into a purse or briefcase.  It takes quite a while to wander through the life of this stubborn farmer’s daughter, from childhood to death, her heart open for readers to see and consider.  Set in fourteenth century Norway, Kristin’s journey revolves around the conflict she carries between her duty to her father and youthful passion.  She follows her heart but regrets it, carrying the sin of her behavior with her until she dies.  Her story is romantic at times and realistic always, allowing that hindsight may offer clearer vision, but our actions still follow us and there is nowhere to hide. 

“Her heart was bleeding with sorrow and shame, but she knew that she could not believe in miracles because she was unwilling to give up her inheritance of health and beauty and love.”

Author Sigrid Undset, who won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1928 after publishing the trilogy that would become Kristin Lavransdatter, was the first woman to win the prize, in spite of complaints about the sexual explicitness and blatant moral questions explored in her work. 

“She was so blissfully robbed of all power.  She leaned closer to the man and whispered faintly; she didn’t know herself what she said.  When he placed his hands on her bodice and stroked her breasts, she felt as if he had laid her heart bare and then seized it.”

I stumbled upon Kristin when I was a member of the ALA/YALSA DVDs for Young Adults Committee and watched a fifteen minute animated short called The Danish Poet, which is a charming study of coincidence and possiblity.  The poet, who finds himself unable to write, travels to Norway to meet his favorite writer, Sigrid Undset.  Kristin is mentioned and noted by its size, and my interest began.  When I returned home, I searched the stacks for a copy and lo and behold, there it was.  I walked around with Kristin for several weeks and attracted not a few stares and questions, but was totallly absorbed in a life set in a faraway time in a faraway land but so close to my own.  How many decisions do we carry with us forever, decisions made on a passing feeling, a hunch, a guess, without thought to the next twenty or thirty years?  Kristin walks through life with her baggage of guilt, but she finds fulfillment and happiness in spite of it.  It isn’t easy, but her struggle proves worthwhile and universal. 

Kristin Days