Simone de Beauvoir’s letters, a sense of place, murderous ministries
Penmon, Anglesey
Monday 22 April
Yesterday I did a bit of work on the novel, then I managed to finish garden jobs left over from last week – meadow flower seeds are sown, herbs potted, bird feeders washed. It was sunny and cold, but very pleasant to be in the garden.
Today I worked on the Biography and a talk.
When I went out this morning I heard starlings whistling. I love the sound, it’s so cheeky and devil-may-care.
Tuesday 23 April
I woke early and did a bit of work on the novel, then more on the Biography. It was one of those baffling times when try as I might I can find absolutely no information about someone – I have his name and address which you would think would be plenty to start with. But it’s as if he never existed.
I also found time to try a bit of sketching, which was great fun.
I’ve been reading some of Simone de Beauvoir’s letters to Nelson Algren (Beloved Chicago Man: Letters to Nelson Algren). Of course, her work has always interested me, and I’ve read quite a bit of it over the years (including Letters to Sartre).
The letters in Beloved Chicago Man are personal letters charting her long-distance love affair with Algren – she lived in Paris, he in Chicago. And they really are personal, gushing with love and passion, and frankly I find them quite cringe-worthy & embarrassing at times. The gossipy bits are interesting, and descriptions of her work, places she visits and people she meets, but all the grand passion stuff leaves me cold.
I expect it will take me years to read the book. It’s massive. It does seem that every word she ever wrote is worthy of publication. I wonder her shopping lists haven’t been published. Still, it’s the kind of thing you can read a little at a time, a letter here, a letter there. And since it’s already been on my reading pile for years I don’t think it matters how long it takes.
The starlings have found – that is, invaded – the garden feeders. They are comical, noisy and messy birds, but they don’t usually stay for more than a few days so the mess doesn’t last. Usually later on we get a few bringing their young to feed.
Wednesday 24 April
I had a frustrating and depressing day thinking it wouldn’t take me long to finish off the suffragette talk for next week, but in fact I had completely lost confidence in it, questioned everything, and spent the whole day fiddling about. Nothing on the novel or the Biography!
I went out at lunch time to an art supply shop and stocked up on things for all the projects I haven’t got time to do…it cheered me up to be in the shop, where the staff are always friendly and helpful, and I love browsing through the paints and papers and pencils, and marvelling at the many things I have no idea how to use, but which have an air of magic about them.
Thursday 25 April
I got up early again and worked on the novel. I do like this early morning writing. Later I worked on the Biography. And the talk is finished.
Friday 26 April
I worked on the suffragette interviews today, checking a chapter draft. Then I went to my second Pilates reformer class. It was harder than the first one, but still good. Sometimes I think being a beginner is the best bit of any endeavour – the first lesson, the first attempt. No one expects anything very much, and you don’t have all that much to learn. Then things get more difficult…
Saturday 27 April
To Hawkesbury Upton today for the April HU Literature Festival on A Sense of Place. It was held in St Mary’s Church, which is a lovely building in a beautiful setting, but was bitterly cold. I wore two coats, gloves, scarf, huddled on a hard wooden pew, but was still cold. Luckily I’d made soup for supper, which helped me to thaw out.
There’s a prime minister buried in the church – Lord Liverpool. His banners hang above his tomb. He was prime minister when the Peterloo Massacre took place, and introduced repressive measures afterwards. Shelley wrote about the massacre in his poem ‘The Mask of Anarchy’, which doesn’t however mention Liverpool. Lord Castlereagh, who Shelley does mention (I met Murder on the way – / He had a mask like Castlereagh – ) was one of the ministers who supported the repressive programme.
It was a very good event. Throughout the day Gerard read some wonderful poems and prose: ‘Stanton Drew’ by U A Fanthorpe, the opening of Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier, ‘Composed upon Westminster Bridge September 3 1802’ by William Wordsworth and ‘Adlestrop’ by Edward Thomas.
We heard from author A A Abbott, who writes brilliant psychological thrillers set in Clifton, Bristol; children’s novelist Tiggy Greenwood on the Holders, the imaginary guardians of place in her books; Jane Austen’s sense of home from Lisa Overton. Cotswold farmer Sophia Ashe told us about her travel book describing her time as a gaucho; Felice Hardy told the amazing and moving story of her tennis-champion grandmother’s escape from the Nazis; we heard about places in the near future from Stephen Oram; and our final resting place from Bill Wood, who has written a memoir of his career as an undertaker. And we had a fabulous short story written especially for the event by Mark Rutterford.
I did my talk A Journey to Eighteenth-Century Anglesey, based on some of the research I did for The Contraband Killings, the latest Dan Foster Mystery.
There were so many ideas and themes discussed, and so much variety in the sessions – readings, interviews, talks, performance - added to the conversations with other readers and writers during the breaks, which all made it an inspiring and uplifting day.
Yes it's a great poem - even if I did spell it wrong!!! (mask for masque...doh)
…love ‘The Masque of Anarchy’. It’s still my favourite of Shelley’s poems.