My name is Julia and I am a Viragoholic

I'm a bad blogger without the discipline to sit down and write. I'm very lucky to live in England, which is full of charity shops and temptations. I started collecting Virago Modern Classics about a year ago and now have about 100. I'm an absolute magpie for them (and Persephones). Unfortunately, I can buy things far more quickly than I can read them and I'm running out of space. There's no chance of my TBR pile running out for quite some time. Let's see, how did I accumulate my most recent purchases pictured above?:

• Blaming and The Return of the Soldier were very kindly sent to me by Mrs B of The Literary Stew. TRotS looks a lot shorter than most of Rebecca West's work (I'm often scared off by length...), so it should be a good place to start.
• I adore Rosamond Lehmann's writing, and was very pleased to find Dusty Answer (which I believe to be many people's favourite) in the Marylebone Oxfam Books, especially as it's one I was considering buying new.
• The Tortoise and the Hare came from Borders. I for one am sorry that they're closing. I remember when the first one opened on Oxford Street- I'd never seen anything like it. I'm so glad a manager wrote back in response to Rachel Cooke's rather smug article. Yes, independent bookshops are lovely, but when a huge business like Borders can't survive competition from the internet, does she really expect small independent bookshops to spring up now that they've closed? (I'm going off topic now, but it still irks me).
• I've been looking for a copy of The Sugar House (in original green to match the other three) ever since I had my heart ripped out by The Lost Traveller, and I thought The Soul of Kindness had an interesting premise.  I managed to show some restraint as there were a few others that looked tempting.
• I found Deborah (I'm always interested in Jewish fiction) and The Play Room in a charity shop I'd never been in before- so I felt as if I had to buy something from them...
•  I was sent to Oxfam to buy one of their special handmade cards for a distant relation about to turn 80, and having read a wonderful review of Lucy Gayheart by Book Snob just a few hours previously, it seemed like providence.

It's been over a year now since the bulk (or at least a great deal) of my re ading became Virago and Persephone based. Some of my favourites so far include The Diary of a Provincial Lady (the one that started it all off, really) by E.M Delafield, Invitation to the Waltz and The Weather in the Streets by Rosamond Lehmann, Our Spoons Came From Woolworths by Barbara Comyns, The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Armin, Mrs Miniver by Jan Struther, The Lost Traveller by Antonia White and of course everything by Angela Carter. It's impossible to love every single book they publish (The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy was a recent dud for me, and I normally love quirky coming of age stories), but it's fairly rare to come across one that I won't want to re-visit at some point for whatever reason.

Does anyone else have this 'problem?' What are some of your favourite Virago titles? Of course, the obvious solution would simply not to go into charity shops, but, realistically, I think I need to be more discriminatory with my purchases, however cheap they are. I need to ask myself how likely I am to read it. However, there's always the worry that a week later I'll realise I desperately need it for something and it's terribly rare...

A post with some actual substance will be forthcoming in the not too distant future...

Women Unbound

Participants in this challenge are encouraged to read nonfiction and fiction books related to "women’s studies."

According to a Wikipedia entry, women's studies is an interdisciplinary academic field devoted to topics concerning women, feminism, gender, and politics. It often includes feminist theory, women's history, women's fiction, women's health, feminist art, feminist psychoanalysis, and the feminist and gender studies-influenced practice of most of the humanities and social sciences.

There are three levels for readers:

• Philogynist: Read at least two books, including at least one nonfiction.
• Bluestocking: Read at least five books, including at least two nonfiction.
• Suffragette: Read at least eight books, including at least three nonfiction.

This is the first reading challenge I've decided to take part in- I've always been a little daunted about taking part in reading challenges in case I can't keep up (sometimes I read really fast, sometimes I'm terribly slow), but as this lasts for a year and I have plenty of books on my shelves that would be suitable, why not? These are the books I've chosen so far, but I'm sure more will turn up:

Fiction:
Lady Audley's Secret  by Mary Elizabeth Braddon (nearly finished this...)
Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood
The Crowded Street by Winifred Holtby
Fidelity by Susan Glaspell
Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell

Non-fiction:
An Interrupted Life: The Diaries and Letters of Etty Hillesum by Etty Hillesum
The Wonderful Adventures of Mrs Seacole in Many Lands by Mary Seacole
Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire by Amanda Foreman

Has anyone read any of these? I'd love to hear your thoughts...

And yes, I absolutely consider myself a feminist. In fact, there are few things that irritate me more than the phrase, "I'm not a feminist, but..."

Wives & Daughters

What can I say about American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld, the novel that isn't-a-portrait-of-Laura-Bush-but-really-kind-of-is that hasn't been said already? I hate the Bush administration and everything it stands for and I've never been an admirer of Mrs Bush, but I nevertheless loved this book. I think it's because Sittenfeld writes so empathetically in the voice of a woman whose lifestyle and choice of husband few of us are ever likely to have much in common with. Alice Blackwell née Lindgren is presented as a sensitive, bookish child and teenager, whose life is transformed when she kills a classmate whom she has a crush on in a car accident, starts an affair with his dissolute brother and has an illegal abortion arranged by her (lesbian) grandmother. The often seedy side of life that we never hear about in relation to the (bloody) American Dream. She settles into a life as a spinster-ish elementary school librarian and unexpectedly falls in love with the charming ne'er-do-well son of the richest family in the state. I'm not sure if I can fully believe that Laura Bush is a secret liberal, but I could believe it of Alice Blackwell. I think it's important to separate the two. I like the cover, which is exactly how I imagine Alice to look, but I don't think she rides a bicycle once in the novel and the landscape looks far more Little House on the Prairie than small town Wisconsin...

At Mrs's Lippincote's, the first novel by Elizabeth Taylor is a finely written novel, but not one that really resonated with me. Although it is told from several different points of view, I found it difficult to really connect with any of them. My favourite character was precocious young Brontë-obsessed Oliver- I have to admit that I was a bit like that when I was younger. I was also ambivalent towards Angel, so I wonder what it is that's preventing me with connecting with a writer who, going by my usual tastes and preferences, I ought to love. I have a feeling Taylor is a writer who grows on you and I'm certainly not giving up.

I absolutely loved Singled Out: How Two Million Women Survived Without Men after the First World War by Virginia Nicholson, the best non-fiction work I've read in goodness knows how long. This is my great-grandmother's generation- she was one of four sisters born in the 1880s and 90s and she was the only one who ever married (one lived with her lover for years but never married him, another was a fairly well-known artist in lesbian Jewish avant-garde circles and I don't know anything about the fourth) and that was to her cousin. I loved just how readable, sympathetic and moving this book was, the analysis is sensitive and spot-on and the case studies are fascinating. They include the campaigner Florence White (not the same Florence White of Good Things In England fame) and her sister Annie who campaigned for spinters' rights and set up the National Spinsters Pensions Association, Gertrude Maclean who founded the Universal Aunts agency (a fantastic enterprise- women could finally get paid for something that had always been taken for granted), Caroline Haslett, the first director of the Electrical Association for Women (who was cremated by electricity- I love it), lady's maid Rose Harrison who when asked what she'd do if she could live again replied, "I would live my life over again," and countless others. Winifred Holtby's books have also risen rapidly to the top of my TBR pile. Nicholson isn't afraid to take on questions that are still controversial in the C21, such as whether it's possible to be happy and fulfilled without getting married and having children. If these extraordinary women are anything to go by, the answer should be a resounding yes. The First World War was undoubtedly a tragedy of immeasurable proportions that caused all sorts of damage and it's fair to mourn for a 'lost generation,' but it is easy to romanticise what might have been. If it hadn't happened, expectations of women's lives might have remained based on getting married and having babies. I wish my girlfriends and acquaintances who do nothing but whine about their boyfriends would read this book. It puts so many things into perspective.

On the silver screen, I enjoyed An Education, based on Lynn Barber's memoir of coming of age in 1960s suburbia, despite feeling squeamish at the love scenes. It's really scary how Jenny/Lynn's parents encouraged the relationship. For me, the real treat was seeing a host of fabulous semi-obscure British actresses sharing the screen. As many have already commented, Carey Mulligan is wonderful as Jenny with an extraordinary way of appearing very young and older than her years at the same time, Olivia Williams (an actress I absolutely adore) as her English teacher Miss Stubbs (the scene in her flat at the end was beautiful), Rosamund Pike as ditzy blonde amoral trophy girlfriend Helen and Kate Duchene (Miss Hardbroom on The Worst Witch- my favourite TV show when I was 10) as the Latin teacher (I'd recognise that voice anywhere). There's also a cameo from not-so obscure but always brilliant Emma Thompson as an unpleasant anti-semitic headmistress. The period details are immaculate and the ending somehow seemed perfect.

Branching Out 3

With 20-odd new shows in three weeks, it's a bit like pot luck and I tried to attend as many as I could. I'm so lucky to only be about five minutes away from the Rosemary Branch, which I believe (wholly without bias) to be the best fringe theatre in London. It's a shame one can't be a professional audience sweller- I think I'd be quite good at it. It's a win-win situation as they get one more person in the audience and it keeps me off the streets.

I'm not really in the target audience for Rosie Wilby's Edinburgh Fringe hit The Science of Sex (I don't feel entirely comfortable with the tell-all style that Sex and the City and the likes has made the norm), but I quite enjoyed it nevertheless as Wilby has an engaging, amiable style. I saw a show with a very similar concept in Cambridge a few months ago and that was absolutely awful, so it was in some ways a breath of fresh air. There were some very funny lines ("I love the term LGBT- it sounds like a sandwich!") and I enjoyed the story of how she came out to her parents on April Fools Day, thinking they'd be horrified, but were very excited and handed out leaflets to the neighbours with the good news.

The Forecast, performed by Marvin and the Theatre Cats seemed to be the hot ticket- I didn't need to be there to swell the audience as it was absolutely swollen. The premise is that a luxury cruise liner sinks, and three rich twits are stranded on a raft together and inevitably get on each others' nerves. This might have potential with a lot more work (the dancing is quite amusing), but it currently feels very incomplete and about as aimless as the raft itself.

The undoubted highlight of the festival is Rosemary Branch co-Artistic Director Cleo Sylvestre's one-woman show The Marvellous Adventures of Mary Seacole, which is everything a one-person show should be- beautifully written and performed, informative, warm, funny and poignant. It really is like having an audience with the real Mary Seacole. Cleo takes us on a journey from Mary's upbringing in Jamaica, where she learned about herbal remedies from her Creole mother and practiced nursing her dolls and pets, her first visit to England at the age of sixteen, her many personal tragedies and struggles with poverty,  and finally the Crimea where she was turned down by Florence Nightingale, but started her own unique hospital. It's told with so much gentle humour (I loved the descriptions of all of Mary's colourful outfits- she clearly had quite an eye for detail) and there's not a trace of self-pity. I now really want to read her autobiography. Miss Nightingale might have been interested in formal qualifications, discipline and references, but Mary Seacole did more by doing what came naturally and clearly had a much more effective bedside manner. A pearl.

The trouble with Ah, Bet You Didn't Know, performed by Allistar Bain is that you need to have some kind of prior knowledge of Caribbean folklore for it to make sense as it isn't easy to follow. It's a bit like an in-joke and I think that sort of defeats the purpose of storytelling...

Soviet Zion by Katy Lipson and Giles Howe met with a mixed reception from my friends, but I'm leaning towards the more positive end of the spectrum. Jewish flavoured musicals seem to be tricky things (in spite of the fact that nearly all of the great musical theatre writers are of Jewish extraction) and last year's Holocaust musical Imagine This (my scathing review can be found here) was the most embarassing, misguided thing I've seen in my entire life ("Let's put on a show in the ghetto!"). This is certainly an ambitious project- an epic musical spanning thirty years in Soviet Zion, an area of Siberia given to the Jews by Stalin in the 1920s (I'm ashamed to say this is something I'm completely ignorant about, and I'm half-Jewish). I worry that it's too ambitious and that the time span won't allow sufficient character development and there isn't much in the way of traditional Jewish rhythms or humour (though I realise how tricky it is to get the balance right...).  It would also be nice if it ended on a note of hope. Of course, it's never going to be a commercial success. However, I enjoyed what I heard, I didn't find it emotionally manipulative, the lyrics (so often the biggest problem with new musicals) didn't make me want to bang my head against a wall and I would be interested in seeing a fully staged production. There were great performances from Arabella Rodrigo, Julia Buckley and Nancy Hill, as well as Katy and Giles themselves. I'm cautiously optimistic about this one, I think it has the potential to be very good.

I found Terje Tveit's staged reading of Peer Gynt to be a very curious piece of work that I don't think I'm clever enough to appreciate. It's not that I don't enjoy a crazy, sprawling epic from time to time, but I definitely prefer Ibsen's tightly plotted "domestic tragedies." I read a synopsis beforehand, but still got completely lost early on (my cleverer friends fared much better than I did). This production is set in a 1920s jazz underworld full of music and dance, including a rendition of Broadway Baby. As Follies (a favourite of mine) is the most meta-theatrical musical I know, my head started spinning at that point with all the meta-ness. The aesthetic, in which the only colours on stage were red and black, reminded me a lot of Chicago and the jazzy feel and the anti-hero working his way through the underworld and seducing numerous women with an overhanging threat of murder and self-destruction felt pretty close to The Threepenny Opera and Pal Joey. The stage directions were read out by the director, and that actually worked really well with the whole stylised feel of the production. Sort of like Ibsen done as Brecht. All the acting was very good, especially Peer Gynt himself, his mother, "Green Eyes" and the maid who gets murdered (no cast list, I'm afraid). I can't honestly say I enjoyed this, but that's probably most likely to due to the fact that Peer Gynt is almost definitely an acquired taste. The rhyming couplets started to grate on my nerves almost immediately. I found myself having flashbacks of Michael Frayn's Afterlife, agh.

The Clock Master by Sparkle and Dark's Travelling Players was real treat. I couldn't quite work out if it was aimed at children or adults, but that's not really the point. This is very much from the Angela Carter school of fairy tales as they aren't afraid to step into sinister, macabre territory, all of the stories have a sting in the tail and are full of cryptic messages. There was such a creative use of puppetry and props (the origami birds were particularly delightful) and the music was lovely. I really hope to see more from this multi-talented troop of actors, story-tellers, puppeteers and musicians. Enchanting.

My least favourite piece was Graham Farrow's Stay With Me Til Dawn, which I found really horrible. At least it was only a reading as the violence is hideously gratuitous, bordering on voyeuristic. The unpleasantness is laid on so thick (ever heard of the expression less is more??) and needless to say, I won't be going to see the staged version, if it happens. I expect the Hackney Gazette, which runs a pedophile story practically every week, would love it...

Dead-Kat Productions' (can't say I'm too keen on their name) 'multi-media' adaptations of Macbeth and A Midsummer Night's Dream condensed into under an hour each reminded me a bit of the BBC's animated Tales From Shakespeare (very useful for when revising for Finals...). Of the two, I preferred Macbeth, with was very effective in capturing eerie atmosphere, with the projected blood and witches. There was some confusion over who the child puppet was supposed to represent- apparently it was drippy Malcolm. My problem with Dream was that most of it wasn't terribly funny. I did like the way they did Pyramus and Thisbe as a puppet show though- I was a bit concerned as to how they'd pull that off with only two mechanicals. The Shakespearean performances weren't quite world class (though I thought the actress playing Lady Macbeth and Titania did have real presence), but were mostly pretty good. As it was the first time they'd performed Dream to an audience, I'm sure the comedy will start to flow more naturally. This would be a perfect show to take round to schools.

My favourite parts of Mew and Me by distinguished actress Petra Markham (sister-in-law of Corin Redgrave, who was in attendance) were the scenes between her character (an actress) and Charlotte Mew herself. I've never read any of Mew's work before (even though obscure Victorian/early C20 women poets are right up my street), but she seems like quite an enigmatic character full of contradictions, which naturally works really effectively in drama. However, I think this piece might work better as an Afternoon Play on Radio 4 than as a staged drama...

Saving the most eccentric to last, Fiona Watson's show An Evening With Bunty Carnavon was a most quirky take on spiritualism for a commercial era (actually, you could say that spiritualism has always been commercial). Blinky and Minky were hands down the finest guinea pig puppets I've ever seen.

As expected, a real mix of things. I have to single out Mary Seacole and The Clock Master as my favourites. There was an all-time low in September with a one-woman vanity show by a not particularly talented 'singer/songwriter,' which was half a cabaret (including songs from a musical she's written about Adam, Eve and Milton in therapy- as you do) and the other half was a solo musical in which she played a gay man dying of AIDS, performed to tracks used for ring tones (the same eight beats on a loop over and over again). It really was dire ("Who does she think she is- Kathryn Hunter?!"). It's very hard indeed to imagine anything else being as soul-destroyingly awful as that (though Stay With Me Til Dawn was on a par). Here's to a fantastic November and December. I have a very good feeling about all the forthcoming shows and there really never is a dull moment around here.

Rigoletto and Iolanthe

I have to admit it- I'm not really sure if I'm an opera fan. There are some I really love (La Traviata and Eugene Onegin being top of the list), others I wouldn't choose to listen to for fun but found really interesting and moving in performance (Jenufa), but there are many that leave me cold. Jonathan Miller's production of Rigoletto falls into the latter camp. It's something of a modern classic that's been revived numerous times since its premier in 1983 and judging by the performance I saw, I really don't see what's so brilliant about it. For one thing, it didn't sound right in English as the words seemed so banal. It didn't help is that the acting was lacklustre, the singing was nothing more than adequate and the soprano's voice was far too thin for a venue as vast as the ENO. Miller's great innovation is that he transports the action from sixteenth century Italy to 1950s New York and the set for Rigoletto and Gilda's apartment building was straight out of West Side Story. Gilda has to be the wettest blanket in opera- "Oh, my boyfriend is cheating on me and never really loved me, but because I love him sooooo much I'm going to die in his place." Get a grip, girl.

I'm very lucky that all the Gilbert and Sullivan shows I've seen to date have been beautifully sung and presented, but it's the kind of thing I enjoy well enough while the show is going on (though the baby switching twist in HMS Pinafore is just too much) but am quite happy to leave behind at the end. Although I love musical comedy, I've always found G&S just a bit too cutesy and contrived for my liking. I first saw this production of fairy and parliament operetta Iolanthe at the Rosemary Branch last year and it's even better now.  I knew there was a reason why I'd never been to the Pleasance Theatre in spite of the fact it's reasonably local- it's so convaluted to get to by public transport. A shame, as it's a very nice venue with really comfy sofas and the openness of the auditorium works beautifully.

One of the things I loved most about this was the attention to detail and the way that all the characters responded to each other and to all the crazy things going on. I shouldn't really single out anyone from the universally excellent cast, but the three adorable fairies, Fleta (Charlotte Wooll-Rovers), Celia (Karen Richmond) and Laila (Rosie Strobel- whose facial expressions reminded me greatly of Nessa in Gavin & Stacey- could Ness have had a secret career as a G&S star?? Interesting how Gilbert and Sullivan and Gavin and Stacey share the same initials...) stole every scene they were in, giggling and prancing like hyper eight year olds. Iolanthe herself was beautifully sung by Anne-Marie Cullum and the Fairy Queen, portrayed by Kristin Finnigan, was an majestic figure who also was a devoted and loving mother to her daughters. Director John Savournin was very sweet as love interest Strephon (though I missed the blue hair) and he and Georgia Ginsberg as his lady love Phyllis in her flouncy gingham frock and curly blonde wig made an adorable pair of young lovers. There was also a delightful turn by Simon Butteriss as the Lord Chancellor. The music was played beautifully by the Eaton-Young Piano Duo. I loved Mia Wallden's costumes, especially the fairies' brightly coloured ballet-style frocks. It all looked so fresh and vibrant, and the boat that Strephon and Phyllis sailed off in after their duet was a hilarious touch.

I'll never be a card carrying G&S fan (like I am with Sondheim), but for the first time in my life, I thought I might like to listen to more of their works for the fun of it. Something of a revelation.

October acquisitions

It might sound strange, but I rarely buy books new. I prefer finding them second-hand, as if they've been on the shelf waiting for me to rescue them, so I only really buy from bookshops when I have book tokens to spend. I wanted to buy The Brontës Went To Woolworths and Miss Hargreaves, and as the latter wasn't in stock (maybe next time), I settled on Love's Shadow instead. I guess Bloomsbury must have seen how successful Persephone have been, so they've created their own series of 'forgotten' novels. I know I'm a little late to the party, but I'm looking forward to seeing what they have to offer.

Moonraker and At Mrs Lippincote's came from a FreeCyle fair. Both are ex-library copies and in rather ropey condition, but they'll do. I'm reading the latter at the moment and the former doesn't look like typical Virago fare- the blurb sounds a bit like Frenchman's Creek.

I found Spinster for a very reasonable price at Cancer Research UK (which I find to be one of the more expensive charity shops) and it looks most interesting. The Daisy Chain came from the Salvation Army, and it's easily the fattest Virago I've ever come across (673 pages). I remember Wilmet in A Glass of Blessings saying that she was named after a character in a Charlotte Yonge novel- the author biography states that Yonge was the author of about 160 novels, which were heavily edited by her father and John Keble and was a life-long believer in the inferiority of women. I somehow doubt I'll ever actually read this... Lovely cover portrait by Arthur Hughes, though.

The lettering on the spine of the one underneath has completely faded, but it's an edition of Peer Gynt, found amongst a bunch of stuff being thrown away, which might come in useful as I'm attending a rehearsed reading of the play at the Rosemary Branch on Friday, and it would be helpful to have some idea as to what's going on...

Singled Out is a non-fiction work about the women left husband-less after WW1, it's full of people I like and I was very pleased to find it at Oxfam. Rummaging in the non-fiction section really can pay off.

Judgment Day (Almeida Theatre)

Despite being local, I'm a bit ambivalent towards the Almeida Theatre. I always get the impression that they take themselves terribly seriously as they seem to do Serious Drama only without much in the way of fun. They get tons of funding and plenty of support from rich people, attract lots of star names for their productions and always get outstanding reviews, many of which bemuse me entirely. I've seen a couple of really excellent shows there (Duet for One with a once in a lifetime performance from Juliet Stevenson being a highlight of my theatre going career), but I find so many of them overly earnest and frankly pretentious and dull. I was only vaguely familiar with Ödön von Horvath beforehand as the author of Tales From The Vienna Woods which my grandfather edited (unfortunately for me in German, which I don't know) and it makes me wonder why his plays aren't produced more frequently. In fact, James Macdonald's production is the first fully staged production of Judgment Day in this country, thanks to Christopher Hampton's translation and championing of his work.

Judgment Day doesn't make any explicit references to the Nazis or anti-semitism, but the behaviour of the members of this ghastly provincial town who are quite happy to swap one hate figure for another certainly evokes the way that petty vindictiveness can grow into mob hysteria. It all sounds dreary, but it's absolutely gripping (with a certain amount of sardonic humour) and all the characters are well drawn regardless of their overall importance to the narrative, particularly Sarah Woodward as an increasingly malicious gossip.

Joseph Millson is outstanding as the station master Thomas Hudetz ("such a nice young man, they don't make young men like that anymore...") who has always lived a blameless life and "followed orders and done my duty" until he is 'distracted' by young Anna (a most assured Laura Donnelly), leading to a failure to deliver a signal that leads to a collision on the lines, and both commit perjury. This inevitably leads to horrible consequences. The kiss is witnessed by Hudetz's much maligned older wife (played to neurotic perfection by Suzanne Burden), who is branded a madwoman and pariah. Upon his release from prison, Hudetz is welcomed back into the community as a hero, until the tables turn again...

The staging is remarkably clever, as the train tracks twist and turn at different angles to highlight different locations and perspectives. I also appreciated how it was performed straight through- an interval would have greatly interrupted the suspense.

I was never bored which is high praise for the Almeida. A terrific production and one that's more than worthy of a transfer.

(Esther) Freud, Forster, Pym and Drabble

There's something about the English in Italy that novelists seem to find irresistible. It's easy to see why- the heat, and the beauty of the surroundings give way to all sorts of emotional explosions and self discovery. The heroine of Love Falls by Esther Freud is seventeen year old Lara, who is taken to Italy by her academic father whom she only slightly knows during the time of Charles and Diana's wedding (did people ever really think that that was a love match?), where they get involved with his old friend Andrew Willoughby, his mistress and his gang of spoiled brats. There's certainly an echo of Brideshead Revisited in the depiction of the exiled aristocrat with a Catholic wife who refuses to divorce him, but none of these characters have any of the charm or magnetism of Waugh's clan. The unpleasantness of the Willoughbys would make even Anthony Blanche blush. I found Lara a frustrating character in that she never really responds to anything and doesn't ask any questions about the tangled intrigues she finds herself caught up in. I have to say that although Esther Freud's prose is of course superior to Stephenie Meyer's, I didn't feel as if it was a million miles away from Bella Swann and Edward Cullen (gawky girl who doesn't realise she's beautiful swooning over impossibly beautiful boy). It makes me realise that character really is the thing I value most in a novel, more so than plot (as A Glass Full of Blessings shows)- if I don't care for any of them, there isn't really much point in continuing. Nice cover art, though.     
                                                                                            

Where Angels Fear To Tread definitely isn't my favourite novel by E.M. Forster (I wasn't deliberately going for an English in Italy theme, it just happened). The story of impetuous young widow Lilia who goes to Italy, marries an Italian (younger than her) to the disapproval of her snobbish in-laws before dying in childbirth certainly exposes English superiority and hypocrisy at its worse, but I found it all rather flat overall. I was helping with an audition earlier this week (handing out scripts) and one of the auditionees came in reading this- I mentioned that I felt Forster did the English in Italy better in A Room With A View...                                                  

I picked up A Glass of Blessings in honour of the new Barbara Pym group on LibraryThing, which was most entertaining and delightful. One doesn't read Barbara Pym for her plots as there isn't really one to speak of. This is the third Pym novel I've read, and it's unusual in the sense that its heroine, Wilmet (what a name), is a fairly young, financially comfortable married woman with rather too much time on her hands and not much to do. Pym has such a flair for creating quietly quirky characters and I particularly enjoyed Wilmet's go-getting mother-in-law Sibyl (strangely the character I most identified with) and kleptomaniac clergy housekeeper Mr Basin. I have to admit that I never expected to find a gay couple in a Pym novel, but it's handled in a very understated, matter-of-fact way, and it forces Wilmet to reassess her assumptions about love and relationships. My favourite bit was in the blood donation clinic, which shows just how little has changed (my brother is a donor and has had some not so pleasant experiences due to horrible organisation and evil nurses- that scares me far more than the prospect of a needle), and reminded me of an episode of the Provincial Lady that E.M. Delafield never wrote. Come to think of it, I'm not sure if I've ever read a scene in a novel in a blood donation clinic. Quite surprising really, as such a place is rife for drama. I also love all the cross-references to characters in other Pym novels, it's like an extended network where everyone knows everyone else.

I'm not quite sure how to talk about The Red Queen by Margaret Drabble. This is going to sound really strange and it's not something I've ever suggested before, but I recommend reading the first narrative (the Crown Princess of Korea's story) and skipping the rest. The Crown Princess's story is frankly superb and absolutely riveting with one of the most fascinating and unique narrative voices I've ever come across. Her life, involving her marriage as a child to the mentally unstable Crown Prince  is so full of violence, intrigue and backstabbing and puts many a Jacobean tragedy in the shade (as the Crown Princess herself observes). It's quite complete in itself, which is an excellent thing as the second story is bit of a dead weight. The Crown Princess narrates her story from the afterlife, where she is able to observe her life and position from a global historical and cultural context. Normally I'd find such a device annoyingly contrived, but it works brilliantly. I think it's because the Crown Princess comes across as such a wise, introspective figure that it's completely believable that she'd be able to draw these parallels herself without the author putting the words in her mouth (though that's exactly what's happening, so I may just be talking nonsense...). There are also some deliciously wry comments. The second half of the story deals with Babs (awful name), who finds herself fascinated by the Crown Princess's story on her way to a conference in Korea and has an affair with a famous academic. That's about it. There are some tenuous parallels between her and the Crown Princess. She eventually meets Margaret Drabble at a party, who is so taken by the story that she decides to write a novel about it. That's when it all becomes too clever for its own good. I'm going to hear Margaret Drabble talk about this novel at the Korean Cultural Centre a week on Tuesday, should be interesting...

I've been...

(This idea is shamelessly ripped off from Alexandra Silber's wonderful blog, but I hope she doesn't mind as it's a nifty way to sum things up)

Visiting my brother at uni in Nottingham (pictured). I've got to say I was pleasantly surprised. The campus is lovely and the city centre is gorgeous. It's easy to idealise a place when you only see the 'nice' parts, but there are some stunning buildings and everyone's really friendly. I have a feeling its not so positive reputation is very unfair.

A most interesting conversation with a very funny, charming couple on the train back. It's always heartening to see people who are so absolutely perfect for each other. They've been everywhere and have done everything (including a sky dive and bungee jump on the same day). They're about to embark on a trip to southern Africa, where they plan (amongst other things) to ride ostriches (apparently it isn't cruel...) and swim with sharks. Makes me realise I haven't lived at all...

Attending a frightfully dull wedding reception for Old Family Friend in Suburban Hell. My grandmother and her sister lived in this place (which I won't name in fear of offending anyone) in the 1920s, and my dad was on a mission to find the house (with amazingly specific directions from my 89 year old great aunt), but all the houses have since been replaced with mock Tudor atrocities with enormous drives to show off all their cars (many which have personalised license plates- the ultimate in vulgarity, IMO). There was one house with three four wheel drives in the driveway and heaven know how many more in the garage. There are no pavements or street lights as they assume that no one goes anywhere on foot. It's the kind of place I could imagine Just William being set in, only now the Botts have taken over everything. As for the not so marvellous party, the bride and groom seemed to enjoy it, which I suppose is the important thing. Why would anyone choose to have their wedding reception in a dingy sports club? I've never been so glad to see Marylebone (the prettiest station in London) in my life. I'd sooner put my head in an oven than go back there.

Feeling like Flora Poste of Cold Comfort Farm- expensively educated, but not qualified to do anything useful.

Getting a bit nervous about an interview of sorts at a very trendy, cutting-edge gallery next week. I'm probably going to be exposed as a fraud as I'm rather old fashioned and not trendy in the slightest. EDIT: Everything seemed to go fine and the people were really friendly and approachable, but it made realise that a commercial gallery really isn't for me. That's what these one-day placements are for...

At the American Embassy, and will hopefully receive my new American passport before long (I have dual nationality). There was bit of a panic over my non-existent social security number (involving a supremely rude woman determined to make everything as complicated as possible), which fortunately turned out to be a red herring. All going well, Chicago 2010 should be going ahead. For such a paranoid nation, I was amazed at how haphazard everything was. I had to swear my oath over a counter, it wasn't even in a private office.

Eating lots of Greek yogurt with maple syrup.

Attempting to learn the Korean alphabet. Watch this space...

Pleasantly surprised by the BBC's new adapation of Emma. I thought Romola Garai was very charming and winning as the eponymous heroine. I'll write about it in more detail when I've seen it all, but I'm cautiously optimistic and already like it better than last year's overwrought Sense and Sensibility and a million times more than ITV's ghastly Mansfield Park and Persuasion (I rather liked Northanger Abbey).

Reading some not so brilliant books, and some excellent ones too (more on that later).

Enjoying having Strictly Come Dancing back (a guilty pleasure- a bit early to choose favourites, but I loved Ali and Brian's quickstep- my favourite dance- last week). I find it quite amusing that Arlene Phillips has been turned into some kind of saint now that she's now longer on the show. If anyone should be a judge, it's Karen Hardy. An incredibly talented woman who really knows her stuff.

Wondering why Obama received the Nobel prize now. I'm a supporter, but it seems very premature.  Wouldn't it be better to wait to see if he delivers?

Looking forward to the Branching Out 3 festival at the Rosemary Branch starting next week. It should be a great blogging opportunity and a chance to sample all sorts of new and interesting things.

Wuthering Heights, ITV style

Another year, another Wuthering Heights adaptation (I know I'm a little late to the party as it's been sitting on the PVR since August). Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre must have more screen adaptations than any other novel (except perhaps Oliver Twist), but I've never been completely happy with any of them. In fact, I think it's nigh on impossible to do either of them justice on screen, but they keep on trying... I'd love to see an adaptation of Villette, however, as I think the novel is brilliantly cinematic and as it hasn't been done to death, something really interesting could be unearthed with a sensitive, intelligent screenplay. I really, really enjoyed Peter Bowker's work on Desperate Romantics. While it was far from being impeccably accurate, it had so much heart and energy and was delightfully acted, which made me see past historical accuracy (though being a pedantic nineteenth century-ist, I feel a bit guilty about doing so). This was a disappointingly watered-down, rather than a full-blooded take on Emily's story. It felt like the Laura Ashley version of Wuthering Heights- there was hardly any emphasis on the Gothic, everything was spotless, the moors were indistinguishable from any other bit of countryside and it was much too sunny (that wasn't anyone's fault and I'm sure any other director would have been thrilled to have such good weather, but that doesn't work so well for WH where stormy and miserable is much more suited to the mood).

Wuthering Heights is not a romance and it always surprises me when it's labeled as such. Heathcliff and Cathy have to be the most miserable, self-destructive protagonists in literature. Tom Hardy has a credible go at Heathcliff (everyone seems to find him gorgeous, but I don't think he's attractive at all- not that Heathcliff has to be good looking). Aidan Turner, recently seen as Rossetti in Desperate Romantics, would make a brilliant Heathcliff (although I find him absolutely gorgeous, he plays selfish and pathologically destructive so well). Although they made Heathcliff more demonic than he usually is (they included the bit when he digs up Cathy's body), they tried to make Cathy more sympathetic in a way that isn't true to the book. Charlotte Riley might be the prettiest Cathy I've seen, but they take out the line about how marrying Heathcliff would be a degradation, making it look as if she marries Edgar on the rebound because Heathcliff has disappeared. 

One of the reasons why Wuthering Heights struggles on screen is because the layered narration is so tricky. Lockwood (non-existent in this version) is hearing the story from Nelly, who relies on various other accounts, and it all becomes very messy (in a good way!) and one doesn't know who to believe. If handled well, I think such a narrative could be really interesting. I also firmly don't believe that Heathcliff and Cathy ever had sex. Only about half an hour is devoted to the second generation (which is where Heathcliff really shows the full extent of his brutality) and the full extent of Heathcliff's physical and emotional cruelty towards Isabella is glossed over.

I wonder what next year's big screen adaptation will be like. Gemma Arterton as Cathy is great casting, but so much hinges on the screenplay... In January 2008, I saw a stage adaptation by Heartbreak Productions that stuck to the book like glue. It was magical. When you have such a fantastic story, why would you want to change it?

When I took my copy of the book off my shelf, I found this rather beautiful bookmark inside. The thing is, I don't remember making it, or anyone giving it to me. A mystery.

                                            

A Streetcar Named Desire (Donmar Warehouse)

I can't that that depending on the kindness of strangers is something that I make a habit of, but I'm deeply grateful to the Donmar Warehouse for running the Donmar Discovery scheme and offering free tickets for their production of A Streetcar Named Desire, which has been sold out for months. It really was the full royal treatment with a free poster and post-show discussion on top of the ticket. The Donmar might be known as the most exclusive theatre in London, but it's also one of the most generous. It's hardly like they do this because they're under booked. This (and my brand new Entry Pass for the National Theatre) is something I'm really going to miss when I turn twenty-five (thankfully not for a few more years).

I've never seen 'Streetcar' on stage before, and it's been years since I saw the film (I adore Vivien Leigh, but tend to re-visit Gone with the Wind and Waterloo Bridge), so I was able to come to it fairly fresh, which I think helped. The production is directed by Rob Ashford, who's most prolific as a choreographer, and I think it shows in the (sometimes unbearably) intense physicality and fluidity of this production. This was the first time I've been in the stalls at the Donmar, and I was right on the corner in the first row, and avoided being hit by Stanley's crockery smashing rampage by centimeters (rather terrifying). That's how intimate it was. Christopher Oram's set with the beautiful spiral staircase and dingy two-bedroom apartment below evokes the outward glamour of New Orleans and the internal squalor of the lives on display.

Rachel Weisz's Blanche arrives in this ghastly place dressed from head to toe in white, setting off her porcelain skin perfectly, and resembling a youthful Miss Havisham. She is rarely off-stage, and she is extraordinary. She makes Blanche tragicomic and sympathetic and I was completely drawn into her flights of fancy and even wanted to make them come true for her. Blanche Dubois might be a terrible manipulator and a nightmare of a house guest, but she really is one of the greatest fantasists in literature, spinning her own stories and in the end, I don't think she has any idea of what's true and what isn't. It all becomes mingled into one.

There is strong support from Ruth Wilson, who is outstanding as Stella (perhaps the heart of the play, and the onstage representative of the audience- she's the one who has to 'watch' Blanche), the tricky woman-who-loves-husband-who-beats-her role. She is no doormat, and is more than a match for Stanley. I can't help but be reminded of the Bigelows in Carousel, but the difference is that Julie loves Billy because she sees in him a vulnerability that no one else does. The violence doesn't turn her on, unlike Stella, who admits she was excited by the way he smashed all the light bulbs in the apartment on their wedding night. The question is- why is she so obsessed with a man who treats her appallingly, has no charm and isn't even remotely physically attractive? No relationship based almost entirely on sex can be healthy and Stella knows that, but she can't let go... and she never comes across as a victim.

I never would have recognised Elliot Cowan as Mr Darcy from the dreadful Lost in Austen (Stanley Kowlaski really is the anti-Darcy), and frankly, Blanche really does have have a point in suggesting that this sweat-soaked, beer-guzzling, tank top wearing (not a good look unless you're Naveen Andrews) brute has missed a few rungs on the evolutionary ladder. He's extraordinarily vulgar and bestial and incapable of thinking before he acts. I think his best moment was his despair after he'd lashed out at Stella, fearing he'd lost her for good. Barnaby Kay as Mitch, the only man who shows any traits of the Southern gentlemen of Blanche's fantasies is decent and straightforward, but who could cope with all the lies that Blanche tells?

It's a long play, and one that left me feeling rather drained, particularly after the heartbreaking final scene. I felt as awful for Stella as I did for Blanche. What happens to Stella and Stanley's marriage after the play? I think Stella knows what her husband is capable of and that Blanche isn't lying about the rape, but the world isn't kind to single mothers... I don't sense a happy future for poor Stella regardless of whatever decision she makes about her marriage.

The post-show discussion was particularly interesting in seeing just how protective Ruth Wilson is of Stella, to the point of being a bit abrupt. I think it's wonderful that she's that passionate about her character (and they must have all been exhausted), but was quite glad I wasn't on the receiving end. An evening I won't soon forget.

Latest Purchases

Ahh, neighbourhood events. Book sales tend to be my favourites, even ones with a £2 entry fee (including a cup of tea and piece of cake). I think they may have attracted a larger crowd if it had been a £1 entry charge with the goodies as an extra. It was certainly the place to be if you're interested in Margaret Drabble or Margaret Forster- I've never seen so many of their books in one place! These organisers weren't going in for bargains and no prices were given (you take your stack up to them and they decide how much to charge- it would look a bit miserable to try to haggle), but I can't complain too much with a Persephone in the stack.

I haven't read any Muriel Spark other than The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, and I'm not quite sure why I decided to take this as the premise doesn't sound particularly appealing. I didn't realise until later that the beastly previous owner had defaced much of it with yellow highlighter. I can't stand marking books with ink (it's pencil only for me). That'll teach me to check the insides of books before buying them!

There was a whole row of just about every book Margaret Drabble has ever written. As a Drabble newbie, the lady on the stall suggested I start with Jerusalem the Golden- the heroine is called Clara, which is a name that I love, and it looks like a promising coming-of-age story (a genre that I've never grown out of).

I always like the simple and chic Penguin Modern Classics editions. My Russian is quite good, but I've shied away from C20 work, finding the C19 more appealing. It's time to step out of the ballroom of Imperial Russia and into the Revolution and its aftermath...

It always makes me unbelievably happy to find a second hand Persephone, and this one is no exception (especially as the bookmark is still in tact!). The Victorian Chaise-Longue is one that has always looked intriguing in the catalogue, but it's hard to justify paying £10 for only 120 pages (I wasn't particularly thrilled with their other very short novel, Cheerful Weather for the Wedding by Julia Strachey). Hopefully it's a case of quality over page numbers...

I also can never resist a Virago Modern Classic. I first read the much-parodied Mary Webb earlier this summer (Seven for a Secret) and I enjoyed it as rustic escapism with a fairy tale-like feel. Precious Bane is generally considered to be her masterpiece, and the cover art is lovely.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak has certainly received a great deal of acclaim and although I'm a bit wary of Holocaust fiction (not on moral grounds; it's simply because so much of it is horribly emotionally manipulative), I'm curious to see if this tale of Nazi Germany told from Death's point of view lives up to all the hype...

This might be a good time to ask- is there anybody out there??

Early Autumn Reads

I'm going through a period where my attention span is all over the place, so I'm finding myself drawn to books that I know are going to be easy to read or short (or both). Etty Hillesum is back on the shelf for now, but I will finish it as soon as my concentration is strong enough. I love the writing of Eva Ibbotson. I never read her children's books (but it's never too late to catch up!) and discovered her 'romances' at the end of my first year at uni (A Countess Below Stairs being the first) and was completely smitten. I feel so lucky that I read that just as her other adult books were being re-issued as teen reads. It's so frustrating to fall in love with an author only to find that her work is out of print. Ibbotson's writing is repetitive in the same way that Noel Streatfeild's is- the stock characters and morality lessons in which virtue is always rewarded. The Dragonfly Pool forms a nice trio with Journey to the River Sea and The Star of Kazan- the magic tends to stem from the natural and enchanted worlds that Ibbotson creates through language and imagery, rather than the supernatural kind found in The Secret of Platform 13, The Island of the Aunts etc. It's rather Frances Hodgson Burnett-like. If you're familiar with Ibbotson, then you'll sort of know what to expect from this tale of plucky young Tally, who, on the eve of World War II, sent to a rather bohemian boarding school full of quirky teachers and pupils, and on a visit to the kingdom of Bergania, finds herself involved in a plan to rescue the crown prince from the Nazis. I don't think this one ultimately reaches the same heights as 'Journey' or 'Star,' (my favourite- I just love reading about old Vienna) but Ibbotson's writing is always beautiful and lyrical and poetic justice reigns supreme. It was also nice to meet an Ibbotson character with my name- unlike me, this Julia is a wonderful actress, but she also happens to be extremely shy...

Fortune's Rocks is a very strange book indeed. I find Anita Shreve's work to be of a rather mixed quality (her best by some distance being Light on Snow), but her books in the very least are reliably easy to get into and quick to read and I've tended to consider her a better writer than she's often given credit for. It seems as if all bestselling women authors are treated with a certain amount of suspicion (which I find terribly unfair). This is the first of her books I've read that's set in the past and the blurb promised 'the kind of literary blockbuster we tend to associate with Charles Dickens or Wilkie Collins... this is perfect reading for a winter night's fireside reading' (Glasgow Herald) and with a heroine comparable to Jane Eyre (The Times). That all sounded very promising. My problem with it? I can't for the life of me condone a relationship between a fifteen year old girl and a forty one year old (married) man (with children not much younger than his lust object). I might have been able to suspend a bit more belief if she'd been eighteen, but fifteen? It's like a daytime TV movie dressed up as something a bit more upmarket, with a few gruesome childbirth scenes thrown in for good measure. The heroine, Olympia Biddeforth, is beautiful, precocious and sheltered and on the verge of womanhood. Along comes her father's friend John Haskell, a doctor and writer with progressive ideas about the living and working conditions of mill girls. They fall passionately in love, are discovered having sex in the chapel at her sixteenth birthday party, she gives birth to his baby, which is sent away to an orphanage. There's no chemistry between the leads and yet we're supposed to root for them unconditionally. Olympia feels guilty about what they're doing for about five minutes, but because she's so enlightened and liberated from the ties of society, there's nothing shameful about it at all because they're soooo deeply in love. It isn't just that she's a well-bred Victorian girl- how could anyone not feel guilty about destroying a family regardless of how much in love you are? She also never has to stand on her own two feet- she enlists a sympathetic lawyer and her father has a change of heart and gives her the financial support she needs to carry out the custody battle. The one genuinely admirable thing she does is undermined in an epilogue that's so contrived that it's almost insulting. To compare Olympia to Jane Eyre... the very thought renders me speechless. On top of all that, the faux-Victorian language quickly becomes grating (did people really never speak with contractions then?). A story about the lives of the mill girls Haskell was supposedly so interested in protecting would have been much more interesting. My favourite musical is Carousel and I always got a sense that the girls in that have two options- work in the mill or get married. Julie Jordan's assertion that she'll never marry (until she enters into a brief, doomed marriage with carnival barker Billy Bigelow) is a bold one. There's the section in Stonecutters Cut it on Stone where the girls compare marriage to domestic and sexual slavery. It makes you wonder if that, or the long hours six days a week in a dusty cotton mill is the lesser evil. Considering the conflict between the Yankee and French inhabitants, it's interesting that she's called Julie Jordan (Jourdan?) and names her daughter Louise...  I know the Christian names come from Ferenc Molnar's Liliom, but it's an interesting thought (to me at least).

The Life and Death of Harriett Frean is a quietly shocking short novel, depicting an entire lifetime in a mere 184 pages (and it would probably be about half that if it was printed in a standard layout). Until Virginia Woolf came along, May Sinclair was considered the most distinguished woman writer of the first part of the twentieth century (she was the one who coined the phrase 'stream of consciousness'). It's surprisingly straightforward to read and it's laid out like a children's book with its large type and wide spacing. It makes you wonder how much Harriett really develops throughout her life as she's constantly stuck in the same mindset and the self-imposed shadow of the parents she idolises. It's ironic that it's her obsession with 'being good' and 'behaving beautifully' that makes her selfish and tyrannical and ultimately pitiable. Well worth a look, only takes an hour or two to read and more accessible than Mrs Woolf (I'm afraid I've never warmed to her, but I keep meaning to put that right). Harriett is exactly the kind of spinster I don't want to turn into! There's a very good review by Stuck In A Book that discusses this novel far more eloquently than I could.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Wedding Season is a delightful confection. I'm not much of a fan of the chick-lit genre (I can never relate to the characters and so many of them are horribly written) and I hadn't read anything by Katie Fforde before, but I have a feeling she may be a new favourite 'fluff' author. I love stories about weddings, even though in the very unlikely event that any man should want to marry me, I don't know if I could face having one of my own. I love reading about extravagance even if I wouldn't want it for myself. Fforde depicts a very (upper) middle class world full of people called Rupert and Fenella who own crumbling stately homes that I'm not sure really exists (maybe it does in the Cotswolds), but that kind of adds to the modern-yet-nostalgic fairytale like feel to the story. The only thing that stretched credibility a bit too far was how Elsa had to design and make a state of the art wedding dress and four bridesmaid dresses for the celebrity wedding, as well as doing over Sarah's sister's wedding dress and making her own Regency ballgown in only two months. When I was a bridesmaid for the first time, my aunt had to make my dress because I was at that awkward age where I was too old for a child's dress but still too small for an adult's and that took ages (she did an amazing job, with very tricky fabric).  But these are minor niggles. I liked how it was character driven with three well-drawn, sensible, likable heroines- wedding co-ordinator Sarah, dressmaker Elsa (my favourite) and hairdresser Bron. There are no skeletons in closets or evil diva bitch brides, just about everyone is supportive and the simplicity and the friendship between the women is refreshing. A book that's like a plate of chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven. More like this, please.

The Children Who Lived in a Barn (first published in 1938) by Eleanor Graham (founding editor of Puffin Books) is one of those books I feel as if I must have read when I was younger, but in fact never did. A rather nice 1955 edition caught my eye at Oxfam as it's since been re-published by the delectable Persephone Books and I love vintage children's fiction. The premise is certainly an unusual one- Granny is taken ill somewhere in Europe, Mother and Daddy have to rush to her side, leaving the five children alone ("Stop fussing about the children. They can manage perfectly well by themselves- and it's quite time they had a shot at it," says Daddy. For the record, the eldest, Sue is thirteen and youngest, Alice, is seven). The plane the parents are on disappears without a trace (a genteel 30s version of Lost, perhaps?) and the miserable landlord Mr Screech orders the children out of the house, but they're offered a barn by the sympathetic farmer, Pearl. A healthy amount of suspension of belief is required throughout- I found myself reminded of the way the Provincial Lady worries about Vicky and Robin's lack of emotion as the children's matter-of-fact acceptance of their parents' disappearance is a little unsettling. What makes it so interesting is seeing the way the children  rail together against the disapproval of the beastly grown ups (especially that dreadful District Visitor) who think that children bringing themselves up without adult supervision is a recipe for disaster and develop their own very sensible set of rules and moral code. I thoroughly enjoyed this (and would love to try out a hay-box), but was a little disappointed that we never learn whether Granny dies from her illness or not...

(Endpapers from the Persephone edition)

On the subject of quick reads, I was quite sorry to see The London Paper go. Whilst it's no better than the London Lite content-wise (apart from having the adorable Pet of the Day feature), the layout and design is so much classier which makes me feel far less grubby reading it!

I met a lady in the meads, /Full beautiful—a faery’s child./Her hair was long, her foot was light/ And her eyes were wild.

 I find it a tricky to talk about art in a non-academic context in a way that doesn't sound horribly clichéd and twee. I don't know why the visual arts are more difficult to discuss than, say, books or theatre. I did History of Art for A-level and had a thoroughly interesting time with two of the most passionate, knowledgeable teachers I've ever had, and I was able to return to it when I did my finalist dissertation (on the representation of women in the Victorian Arthurian revival). For some reason, I've always been drawn to the work of John William Waterhouse. It sounds so quaint, but he depicts certain moments that tell a story in themselves. He's often mislabeled as a 'Pre-Raphaelite' because of his subject matter (medieval knights and damsels etc), but he was born in the year the Brotherhood formed (1848) and was never professionally or socially affiliated with any of them (as an Academician, I assume he would have met Millais, but have no idea about Rossetti or Hunt, or Burne-Jones or Morris). There's certainly an aura of mystery about his life in the sense that nothing really remarkable happened in it. It wouldn't make much of a Desperate Romantics style dramatisation, and yet he created some of the most beautiful, haunting images of different kinds of femininity that I've ever seen. Who says that something extraordinary can't come out of an ordinary life?

The Royal Academy has assembled a splendid array of paintings, most of which I'll probably never see again in my lifetime as so many are in private collections. It's easy to see why they're so collectible, but I still think it's rather selfish. None of the Ophelia images were present, unfortunately, but two out of three of the Ladies of Shalott were- I've seen the famous barge scene quite a few times (yay for the Tate!), and I was glad to see the 1914 "I am Half Sick of Shadows" as a contrast. It's a more womanly, (Millais-style) Mariana-like take on Elaine than what we're used to. It was interesting seeing some his lesser-known early work (several Roman scenes, and an earlier version of Shakespeare's Miranda that I'd never even heard of), but the real treat was seeing the paintings I've admired in books for years in person. There really is no substitute. I was particularly enthralled by Circe Invidiosa- the striking vertical composition and the stunning use of colour. No re-production can do the bright turquoise justice. I've always liked Circe as a character even though she's rather evil (best known for turning Odysseus' men into pigs, but in this painting she's pouring poison into the sea to turn her love rival, Scylla, into a canine sea monster- so deliciously evil). Circe Offering The Cup to Odysseus is another great example of this wonderful character in all her glory. Waterhouse is also one of the only painters to portray Medea in a positive light; so many people just can't see past the child killing. Keats's La Belle Dame sans Merci has long been a favourite poem of mine, and I think Waterhouse's painting captures the lucid sensuality to perfection. It's the hair and haunting eyes. I also adored the sketches, which are astonishingly intense in their simplicity. Infinitely more powerful and memorable than the huge Roman scenes, and on a par with the paintings of goddesses and femmes fatales.

So yes, a lovely exhibition. Finishing on Sunday, so hurry up...

 

The Magic Circle, 1886

 

Circe Offering the Cup to Odysseus, 1891

Circe Invidiosa, 1892

La Belle Dame sans Merci, 1893

 

Windflowers, 1902

Jason and Medea, 1907

Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May, 1908

 

"I am half sick of shadows," said the Lady of Shalott, 1915

 

 Study for The Lady Clare