Aside from what I’ve been reading and reviewing, if you’re looking for something good to read, check out the latest edtion of the Book Review Blog Carnival. I’ll be hosting the next one, on November 2, 2011, so please submit your reviews to the carnival here.
Also, check out the latest edition of the New Vintage Reviews carnival for more reviews of books and other vintage items.
Image via Lauren Treece.
A bunch of little gems found in The Club Hotel, Limited: Guide Book of Yokohama, Tokyo and Principal Places in Japan, printed at the “Box Of Curios,” No. 58, Main Street, Yokohama, Japan. There’s no copyright or publication date, but the book is circa 1880s to 1910s.
The people who stamp about the streets playing a double whistle are blind Shampooers, i.e. “Massage” operators by trade.
Japanese baths are generally heated with charcoal, and it is well to be careful of asphyxia from the fumes. The bath-houses with men and women bathing in full sight of each other, are a curiosity to Europeans.
This idea of co-ed bath-houses, or at least visibility in Japanese bath-houses, contradicts everything we think we know about Japanese modesty, i.e. the information on this antique, circa 1915, lantern slide literature piece:
The woman is taught from girlhood to be modest, retiring and obedient as daughter and wife, and as a rule she is almost certain to avoid spinsterhood, so well-planned is the marriage machinery in Japan. Courtship is unknown as we know it. The bringing about of marriages regularly the work of a private go-between, who brings the young people together after the parents on both sides, with additional precautionary inquisitorial go-between, have agreed to a proposed match. Thus girls often select their husbands unknown to the bridegroom himself, for the selection is usually supposed to be and usually is the result of the go-between’s astute observation, the initiative coming from one or the other parents, who says in effect, ‘Pray you good friend, find a spouse for my daughter– or son” as the case may be. In this way even when a young man or young woman has a small purse or a bodily defect some one equally short in cast or corporal perfection is found and the thing is done. The young people meet at a theater or feast; they chat gingerly with each other and final consent is given. No courtship and absolutely no kissing!’
Listed on the same page of this antique Japan travel guide as Japanese Wrestling, Public Libraries, Museums, Places Of Worship — and across from the small map of the Temples of Shiba — are the Geisha or Singing girls, which could be ordered through the tea-house.
In materials associated with this1915 lantern slide of geisha girls, there is more detail on the hiring of the women:
The geisha houses, rather humble, certainly unpretentious abodes, group themselves in certain quarters, and the hiring of the girls is done methodically through a central office. The hiring should be accomplished by the restaurant keeper or by the housewife as early in the afternoon as possible, but not after six in the evening, unless absolutely unavoidable. For the preparation of the Geisha is an elaborate affair from the wonderful coiling and adorning of her hair to the fit of her white, heelless shoes. They are taken in rickishas to the house of entertainment and carried home in the same way when all is over.
In Chapter V, day trips in the area surround Tokyo, Geisha girls — “pleasure boats full” — are also mentioned.
Information on another antique lantern slide depicting a geisha:
The geisha or singing girl to the “Western” mind fills out the romantic ideal of modern Japan. To the native she is simply a sublimated waitress with dancing and singing trimmings, but she is also a chosen vehicle of Japanese romance. Visions of her dressed in showy silken robes waving a large fan, her black hair marvelously coifed, a fixed smile on her face and moving in rhythmic steps with a special flowing elegance of gesture, rise before those who have seen her at her high functions. Ever to the accompaniment of the tinkling strings of the of the samisen and the full beat of the tsuzumi that picture comes back to the foreigner as the flower of his reminiscence of Japan.
The 14th day, suggests the “opportunity of witnessing the theatres,” of which “Danjuro is admittedly the best actor in Japan.” This 1915 lantern slide is presumably the man himself; likely a descendant of this Danjuro.
And the 15th day one must go to the Bazaar in Shiba Park to “see the gamour dancing girls at the Maple Club, (Koyo Kwan) for which you must obtain an introduction from a member, and afterwards go to the No Dances, a kind of ancient opera, held in the immediate vicinity.”
According to Queer Things About Japan, by Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen, 1904:
The most the ordinary globe-scorcher has to say for Japanese theatres is that they please the Japanese — common Japanese. The good-class Japanese do not go to them. They go in for No-dances, which strike the scoffing European as very well-named; not being dances at all, but a sort of religious play, with posturing and singing and declamation.
Additional information that accompanies this lantern slide:
The Japanese love the theater, and it is a thoroughly national institution. You will be told in select circles how up to the Restoration in 1868 the theater was looked down on, and actors in the view of the samurai class were beneath contempt– the offensive manifestants of a degrading kind of exhibition. There was, no doubt, much affectation in this. The popular theater was supposed to clash with the traditions of the Japanese classic drama know as the “No or “No Dance”.
Today there are hundreds of theaters giving popular drama. The “No” is a collection of some two hundred and thirty-two dramatic episodes, mostly tragic, which were collected and given permanent form in the early fifteenth century.
The Beverly Hillbillies, A Comedy In Three Acts, Based Upon The Television Program “The Beverly Hillbillies” Created By Paul Henning, Adapted by D. D. Brooke, 1968.
This was published by The Dramatic Publishing Company, Chicago — and that’s just who you’d have had to pay if you wanted to put on a performance of the play: $35 for the first amateur performance, $25 for the second, and $20 for each subsequent performance, providing arrangements were made in advance.
As a writer, I love the simple copyright information:
This law provides authors with a fair return for their creative efforts. Authors earn their living from the royalties they receive on the book sale and on the performace of their works. To copy parts or give performances of a royalty play without paying royalties robs the authors of their livelihood.
I’m giving this vintage play away on Listia as a collectible; it does not come with any permission to perform the play. (If you don’t yet know what Listia is, check out my review.)
Now That You’re Big, by Simon Greiner “with apologies to Dr. Seuss,” is an amusing parody of the classic kids’ books with a twist: Now That You’re Big is about sexuality. Including the one activity that is supposed to make you go blind — masturbating.
At first glance, it’s down-right clever; but then something creeps in and creeps you out… Men are having all the fun in this book, not women.
Ms.JayLynn notices and points it out too:
The Dr. Suess nature of this is great, but unfortunately I have to offer a bit of criticism. You’ve done a lot to reinforce standard gender stereotypes.
The section for guys reinforces the idea that it’s ok to ogle girls, and masturbate. The section for girls is all about “be careful because you might be pregnant. Really? Is that the message you want to be sending?
How about teaching girls that masturbating is a good thing and not something to be ashamed of? And what about teaching guys the importance of being respectful and mature about birth control?
Also, where’s the safer sex message? With the millions of euphimisms about condoms, there’s gotta be a way to put at least one of them in a Dr. Suess fashion. Don’t you think that’s an important message to put out there?
Maybe this was all done in fun and games, and you were just amusing yourself with it. Great! I’m glad you had some fun and put together an awesome piece in the style of Dr. Suess. However, there’s a much bigger picture here as well, and I hope you’ll take a few minutes to consider it.
Be well.
Despite her “Be well,” Ms.JayLynn was, of course, bashed for not having a sense of humor.
Hey, Ms.JayLynn, come on over here where we understand that sometimes inequality just isn’t funny. Sometimes even jokes and humorous pieces when just left to their own comedic devices do more than inspire giggles — they perpetuate the stuff that makes us insane. Like treating women as problems not people entitled to their own pleasures. Like not discussing the health concerns by omitting condoms — but still pointing out pregnancy, as if it were “the worst” and something women are responsible for. Ugh.
As for those leaving nasty comments to MsJaylynn, here’s something for you to consider: Now that you’re big, stop being a sexist pig.
I’ll admit I was drawn to this vintage paperback because of the cover. Spotting the sad little sweater girl, I thought to myself, “Why so glum, chum? What can happen to a pinup wearing a pink sweater? …Aside from the cruel misogyny of the world, that is.” But Police at the Funeral
Oh, and when I flipped through the book, I found this little goofy thing:
Who can resist a murder mystery with a sideways smiley face, of sorts, supposedly as a clue?
Since I was lured in by the pulp-esque cover, I had no clue as to the work or the author, Margery Allingham; as I typically do when I have no clue about the book, I scanned the covers and the copyright page for more clues. My copy is the second printing (April 1967) of the Macfadden publication (MB book #60-280). However, the work was originally published and copyrighted in 1931 and 1932, by Doubleday; which, I later discovered, was a later US publication of the original work put out in the UK in 1931 by Heinemann. So basically, what I have is a later reissue with a more “mod” retro pulp packaging, designed to lure new readers to an old (by now cheap) story. A tradition long upheld in publishing — one that obviously still works, as I’m a modern example.
Aside from being of interest to book collectors, fanciers of the book publishing industry, and the odd duck who cares about my behaviors, the dates of the work are important in terms of the review. For the book has that “formal” tone one oft equates with “old mysteries” — both from the British author and the time period standpoint; i.e. the book reads much like those of Agatha Christie, who was Allingham’s contemporary in what is now called the Golden Age of detective fiction.
The basic non-spoiler story is this: Albert Campion is called in by a friend to investigate the disappearance of a man. The man is found — dead. And so Campion winds up investigating by staying at the victim’s family home, the very “Gothic” Socrates Close, in Cambridge. Socrates Close, and the Farraday family it houses, are relics of Victorian times and mores. (The book’s title, Police At The Funeral, is a reference to the deep embarrassment felt by the scandal of murder; similar social rules regarding gender and race are also present.) More mystery, mayhem, and murder ensues until Campion solves the case. Here’s the back of the book for a full cast of characters:
Usually, I have the “who” in whodunit figured out quickly; one of the many reasons I’m not a huge reader of mysteries. But I’ll admit that I didn’t see this one a-comin’. Perhaps this is because, as Inspector Stanislaus said of the culprit and the culprit’s deeds on page 203, the book has “the right mixture of cleverness and lunacy — an elaborate, ingenious scheme.” However…
While not deducing the murderer (early on or at all) is one of the delights of reading a murder mystery novel, I found myself not caring so much.
Firstly, I found myself not caring so much because, formal tone and style of the work or not, I found the characters cold — cold enough that I didn’t particularly like any of them. So even though my morality demands that the criminal be caught, I didn’t so much worry who it was, why they did it, or what the effects of discovery might mean. And those, for me, are required parts for enjoyment of reading such novels. For even if I do figure it all out on page three, I still (hope to) enjoy the character driven consequences of discovery. In this book, this was absent — save for the unique personal gift Campion receives for a job well done: an antique (even then!) gaff taxidermy mermaid skeleton.
Secondly, I found the most interesting and engaging mystery to be that surrounding Albert Campion himself. There are subtle references, most often from the wealthy Great Aunt Caroline Farraday, that Campion’s real name and identity will be kept — even though there are a few clues here and there… Right up to the end of the book, where Great Aunt Caroline mentions that his grandmother is “dear Emily.” This was the mystery I was more concerned with! And it turns out, fans of the author and her works are too. Now that I’ve read the book, I did a little detective work of my own (research) and learned that not only was Police At The Funeral Allingham’s fourth novel with Albert Campion, but the character would eventually go on to feature in a total of 17 novels and over 20 short stories — and at no point is Campion’s true identity given! Now there’s the mystery worth solving! Perhaps 16 more novels and all those short stories later, I could piece a thing or two together…
Thanks to Allingham’s decent writing, I might consider such an endeavor — if only time were infinite. For I have sagging bookshelves awaiting me…
Speaking of sagging bookshelves, I’m willing to divest myself of this one now. You can buy it from me using the button below for just $6, including US shipping. Or you can try eBay or Amazon.
Since I’ve now finished the book, I’ve allowed myself the opportunity to look up the author, and found that she was cheekily self-aware enough to say that she had “a figure designed for great endurance at a desk.” I sincerely take that to heart. For more on the author, see The Margery Allingham Society.
Perhaps today’s right-win conservative evangelists are only following the advice of Dorothy C. Haskin in God In My Kitchen: Fifty-Two Thoughts For Homemakers (copyright 1958, Warner Press, Anderson, Indiana)…
In chapter three, Beauty, we find the following:
Sheer physical good looks do not necessarily go together with excelling character or outstanding achievement. Our most handsome presidents were perhaps Warren G. Harding, James Buchanan, Franklin Pierce, and Chester A. Arthur. None of these are rated by historians as among our top national leaders. The presidents most praised by historians were not handsome men. George Washington was pock-marked. Abraham Lincoln’s rugged features are well-known and Theodore Roosevelt was bristling in appearance. Parent will do well to mention these things, because many children worry about their looks.
So I guess, by the laws of logic one should be voting for “ugly” candidate?
But that depends upon your definition of beauty; thankfully, Haskin helps with that.
Beauty is something which every girl can have. A young girl was praised for her beauty. Privately her father told her, “People are not praising your beauty, but your youth. You can take no credit at all for beauty at sixteen. But if you are beautiful at sixty, you can be proud of it, for it will be your character which has made you beautiful.”
Way to connect with your daughter, dad. Yeah, there’s some truth in that, but talking about her future old crone status is sure to help her in high school — because you know every high school kid thinks they’ll be dead before they reach the old age of 30. Sixty? What the hell is that?!
But I’ve shown poor character and interrupted Haskin again.
True beauty shows when your face is in repose. The natural expression reflects character. It may be fretty, quarrelsome, or reveal a spirit at rest with God. Another time that true beauty may be seen is when you greet someone. If you are self-centered, your greeting is without feeling and does not light your face. But if you are genuinely friendly, your greeting of others will bring a radiance to your face.
A Quaker woman’s recipe for beauty was:
“Use for the lips, truth… for the voice, prayer… for the eyes, pity… for the hands, charity… for the figure, uprightness… and for the heart, love.”
Because everyone talks about how beautiful Quaker women were! Seriously, I’m not a religious person (shocker!), but most of that sounds pretty nice and pretty sane to me — get it, pretty nice? Pretty sane? lol
Anyway, because I’m not religious — and because I’ve had my fun’s worth of this book, I’m giving it away.
There are many ways to enter; options. But you need only do one, if that’s all the effort you wish to put into winning… And no, I don’t care if you want this vintage homemaker’s book for ugly or pretty reasons. Just enjoy it!
* Follow me on Twitter: @DPopTart. (Please leave your Twitter username in your comment so I can check.)
and/or
* Tweet the following:
I entered @DPopTart’s contest to win a FREE copy of God In My Kitchen http://bit.ly/n7fIhz
(Remember to come back here and leave a comment with your tweet for me to verify.)
You may tweet your entry once a day.
and/or
* Friend me on Face Book: Deanna Dahlsad. (When making the request, note that you are entering the contest.)
and/or
* Post about this contest at your blog or website — if you do this you must include in your post to this contest post or Kitsch Slapped in general.
(Please include the link to your blog post in the comments section so that I can find your post.)
and/or
* Post your entry as a comment — if you do this, please make sure I’ve got your email address, because if you’re the winner I’ll need your email address to contact you regarding your shipping information.
Here’s the giveaway fine print:
* Giveaway is open to US residents only
* Be sure that you leave your email so that I can contact you
* Contest ends October 10, 2011; entries must be made on or before midnight, central time, October 9, 2011. Winner will be contacted by October 11, 2011, and has 48 hours to respond; otherwise, I’ll draw another name.
Welcome to the long overdue New Vintage Reviews Carnival, edition #8.
In this blog carnival, we review everything from classic film to vintage vinyl, from out-of-print books to games found in the basement — we hope to make the old seem shiny and new again!
If you’d like your review (or one you’ve read) to be included in the next edition, please submit it! If you’d like to host, just contact me (Deanna.Pop.Tart@gmail.com) and put “New Vintage Reviews Host” in the subject line.
Books:
At A Penguin A Week, Karyn reviews The Go-Between by L.P. Hartley.
At { feuilleton }, a review of Joseph Balthazar Silvestre’s Alphabet-album, circa 1843, by John Coulthart.
My review of 1962’s Royal Canadian Air Force Exercise Plans For Physical Fitness, here at Kitsch Slapped.
Film:
At Immortal Ephemera, a review of 1950’s Bright Leaf, starring Gary Cooper, Lauren Bacall, and Patricia Neal.
At Out Of The Past, a review of Garbo’s Ninotchka (1939).
Games:
At Steamboat Arabia, an illustrated review of The Game of Life aka Checkered Game of Life by Milton Brady — first sold in 1860.
Music:
At Scratch, Pop & Hiss, a review of James Luther Dickinson’s Dixie Fried (1972).
At Kitschy Kitschy Coo, my review of Toni Basil’s self-titled album.
At Silent Porn Star (obviously NWS), a review of the 1957 LP My Pussy Belongs To Daddy, which is silly and risque.
At The World’s Worst Records, Darryl W Bullock reviews A Soldier’s Plea by Bishop J M Smith and the Evangelist Choir.
My review of MTV’s High Priority, here at Kitsch Slapped.
And… This last one isn’t truly a review… But in the spirit of living with “old stuff,” surely the story of Phil Cirocco’s full restoration of a Novochord dating from 1940 fits in. (Via Scratch, Pop & Hiss.)
Here’s a little gem: the Royal Canadian Air Force Exercise Plans for Physical Fitness booklet.
This edition is the forty-third printing of the revised U.S. edition of the official RCAF fitness plan, published in 1962. It’s two books in one, as it contains both XBX (Ten Basic Exercises), the twelve minute a day plan for women, and 5BX (Five Basic Exercises), the eleven minute a day plan for men, which were previously published separately. (Note, the “X” in XBX does not refer to the two x-chromosomes of women.)
The plans enable you, the common folk, to get fit just as the fancy airline folk do — by yourself, at home, in your spare time, at your own rate, without any equipment.
I can’t speak to the effectiveness of the fitness plan; however, the exercises, created by Canada’s “pioneer” of physical fitness, William A. R. Orban, look like the general movements, tasks, and poses I’ve found in so many publications over the years (none as bad as beating your fat against a wall). But I can and will speak to the quirky fact that the two fitness plans differ greatly in terms of how the exercises are depicted by gender.
The women’s exercises are shown with step-by-step photographs of women in leotards:
While the men’s are shown with cool, graphic, iconic, illustrations:
While it’s true that the men’s fitness plan predates the women’s by a couple of years, I still find the differences striking… Was one gender thought to be confused by less-than realistic images? Is the female form just more acceptable, if not titillating, when shown in photographs? Or was continuity broken because greyscale printing became cheaper or otherwise de rigueur?
Before you decide, let me just show you one more thing…
While the men get a great phallic graphic, we women are sans a powerful ovarian homage.
I’ve decided to part with my copy of The Bombshell Manual of Style
In a previous review, I wrote this of the book:
A fast fun romp through the lives of bombshells. No so much on the ‘how tos’ of makeup or fashion, but a funny & fresh look at what makes a girl glam! Covers excuses, words to live by and how to throw a tantrum – you know, the stuff you really want to know. A great book for reading as you soak in a champagne bubble bath!
There are many ways to enter…
* Follow me on Twitter: @DPopTart. (Please leave your Twitter username in your comment so I can check.)
and/or
* Tweet the following:
I entered @DPopTart’s contest to win a FREE copy of The Bombshell Manual Of Style http://t.co/vJp33Va
(Remember to come back here and leave a comment with your tweet for me to verify.)
You may tweet your entry once a day.
and/or
* Friend me on Face Book: Deanna Dahlsad. (When making the request, note that you are entering the contest.)
and/or
* Post about this contest at your blog or website — if you do this you must include in your post to this contest post or Kitsch Slapped in general.
(Please include the link to your blog post in the comments section so that I can find your post.)
and/or
* Post your entry as a comment — if you do this, please make sure I’ve got your email address, because if you’re the winner I’ll need your email address to contact you regarding your shipping information.
Here’s the giveaway fine print:
* Giveaway is open to US residents only
* Be sure that you leave your email so that I can contact you
* Contest ends September 15, 2011; entries must be made on or before midnight, central time, September 14, 2011. Winner will be announced/contacted on September 16, 2011. Winner has 48 hours to respond; otherwise, I’ll draw another name.
Let’s walk — and read — shoulder to shoulder, my sisters…
The first two posts that rather address a backwards feminism post at HuffPo: One at BUST and the other at A Slip Of A Girl. Why should I add anything when they’ve both done so well?
At Silent Porn Star (yup, that means this next link is NSFW), my fellow “nutty Egyptologist” pal discusses brotherly and sisterly love — in terms of etymology, fictive kinship, marriage of kin, and DNA evidence — in ancient Egypt. Interesting food for thought for this armchair anthropologist.
In No Sex, Please, We’re Literary!, author Karen Essex discusses the double-standard which goes past the roles and experiences of the characters, to the limitations of the authors. Here’s a quick snippet; but please go read the rest.
The point of my books is to give voice to otherwise voiceless females from history and myth; to unlock what has been secreted away in women’s hearts and minds for thousands of years; to express what has been unutterable. Historically, women have either been reduced to nothing but their sexuality, or stripped of it entirely; the Madonna or the whore. Are those two options not more degrading to a female character than allowing her the full range of human experience?
Karen Essex has also just earned a permanent link on the blogroll for that post; but she’s an achiever. You should also read Women: Is it our own fault? — which is in response to her earlier post, Take Back The Tit, which also rather addresses the icky HuffPo post too. See? Now we’ve come full circle!
Image credits: Katharine, Marion and Peg Hepburn photo taken by Martin Munkacsi, August 1939, via.
Remember the Nirvana song Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On Seattle
Here’s Kurt Cobain’s response to, “So why was Frances Farmer such an inspiration?” (Melody Maker, August 28th, 1993)
“Well, you know, I’d read some books about her and I found her story interesting. She was a very confrontational person.”
Extremely confrontational.
Selfish, maybe. “That’s not what I got from the books I read. Actually, I did from two of the biographies I read about her, but there was one, ‘Shadowland’, the best one, written by this PI from Seattle who researched it for years, and I didn’t get that impression from that one. She was obviously a difficult person, and got more and more difficult as the years went on, as people started to fuck with her more and more.
“I mean, she was institutionalised numerous times and, in the place in Washington where she ended up, the custodians had people lining up all the way through the halls, waiting to rape her. She’d been beaten up and brutally raped for years, every day. She didn’t even have clothes most of the time.
“Courtney especially could relate to Frances Farmer. I made the comparison between the two. When I was reading the book, I realised that this could very well happen to Courtney if things kept going on. There’s only so much a person can take, you know?
“I’ve been told by doctors and psychiatrists that public humiliation is one of the most extreme and hardest things to heal yourself from. It’s as bad as being brutally raped, or witnessing one of your parents murdered in front of your eyes or something like that. It just goes on and on, it grinds into you and it’s so personal.
“And the Frances Farmer thing was a massive conspiracy involving the bourgeois and powerful people in Seattle, especially this one judge who still lives in Seattle to this day. He led this crusade to so humiliate her that she would go insane. In the beginning, she was hospitalised – totally against her will – and she wasn’t even crazy. She got picked up on a drunk driving charge and got committed you know. It was a very scary time to be confrontational.”
Though nothing could excuse what was done to her, even the most reverent accounts of Farmer’s life don’t attempt to deny that she was on extremely difficult person, that her much-vaunted independence often amounted to a ruthless self-interest that left her indifferent to the suffering she caused. So she was no martyr.
But Farmer – beautiful, arrogant, creative, destructive and destroyed –does appear impossibly glamorous, especially from the safe distance of a few decades.
Is that what drew you to her?
“No. No, not at all”
The song, especially if Geffen have the good sense to release it as a single, may succeed in glamorising her.
How would you feel about that?
“I’d feel bad about that. I just simply wanted to remind people of tragedies like that. It’s very real and it can happen. People can be driven insane, they can be given lobotomies and be committed and be put in jails for no reason. I mean, from being this glamorous, talented, well-respected movie star, she ended up being given a lobotomy and working in a Four Seasons restaurant.
“And she hated the Hollywood scene, too, and was very vocal about it, so those people were involved in the conspiracy, too. I just wanted to remind people that it happened and it has happened forever.”
Most of your songs are, in one way or another, about suffering. A popular liberal notion is that suffering ennobles. Do you think there’s any truth to that?
“It can, it can. I think a small amount of suffering is healthy. It makes your character stronger.”
Do you think you’ve suffered on a large or small scale?
“What do you think I think?”
Don’t know.
“I’ve suffered on a large scale but most of the attacks haven’t been on me, they’ve been on someone I’m totally in love with, my best fucking friend is being completely fucking crucified every two months, if not more. I read a negative article about her every two months.”
Why read it? Why torture yourself?
“A lot of the time I can’t escape it because Courtney gets faxes of articles from the publicist all the time. But also it’s a form of protection. It enables you to remember … and to make sure you never deal with those people again. And another reason we like to read it is that we can learn from the criticism, too. If I never read any of the interviews I did, I’d never be able to say ‘Jeez, that was a pretty stupid thing to say. I’d better try to clear that up.’”
I was first introduced to Frances Farmer — and subsequently fell in love with both her and Jessica Lange — in Frances
The book Cobain “recommends,” Shadowland, by William Arnold, and the ensuing (no pun intended as Arnold sued regarding the film) Lange movie may not be reliable, according to journalist and researcher Jeffrey Kauffman who has spent decades unraveling the Frances Farmer story. However, this doesn’t change much for me.
It’s not that I refuse to accept fact or Kauffman’s research; quite the contrary. I find all the representations and misrepresentations as detrimental to Farmer as the life she did lead. Mental health, especially then, was not kind, no matter what the ignorant intention. The media has only become worse. Her life as a creative, passionate woman was painful, co-opted.
I am absolutely fascinated by Adair Jones‘s debate on the following question: “Was George Eliot’s late marriage a resignation from being a strong-minded woman?”
I haven’t read the works under discussion and, embarrassingly, my knowledge of George Eliot wouldn’t fill a thimble — but that doesn’t put an end to my opining. For it’s not the “did she or didn’t she” of the argument which has me most fascinated, but the “how” of it all…
Once there was a school of thought that held that autobiographies were superior to biographies; a person is the only one who really knows their own life, no amount of research can replace that. Along the way, the sub-genre of memoirs was created in order for a person to be able to tell a smaller story, the story of only a chapter or two in their lives as opposed to the whole story. Memoirs were greatly discredited in the whole Oprah-Frey fiasco. None of that memoirs stuff is of importance here; but memory is.
You see, I don’t remember things by dates. I have a linear concept of time, but dates are not my thing. And time itself passes unevenly for me — for most of us. My children, for example, grew up overnight despite those sleepless nights which I thought would never end. Time waiting for a child in a counseling appointment without a book vs. the same one hour appointment with a book, well, you know how that goes. And then there’s the matter of memory…
What I remember and what my husband remembers about things we’ve done, conversations held, etc. clearly exposes problems with perceptions. What I consider significant, he may not; and vice versa. And I, like many people I am told, often walk to the kitchen only to wonder why I went there.
Memory is a twisty thing.
So how reliable am I in terms of writing my autobiography?
I’m guessing not good at all.
So would the biographer be better?
I swore I wrote about (some of) this before, but I write so many places that if I did, I couldn’t find it; if I do find it, I’ll update with a link. [Note to self: you’re loosing your mind.]
But that is, in part, precisely what I’m talking about. If I were writing my own biography or memoir, I might just reference something I believed I wrote. And even upon being unable to produce it, would swear it was misplaced (or, if I’d grow even more paranoid, claim it was stolen). I’m that convinced I did it. Even if I hadn’t included that tidbit in my autobiography, some researcher pouring through my personal effects, correspondence I’d written over the years, etc. might just find that I’d penned a letter in which I swore that I had written on the subject. Perhaps I’d even accuse a person of the theft of it. This poor researcher / author would then have proof of my presumption, but not what actually happened.
And this is only one example which is far more cut and dried than other realities… The article or written work exists or it doesn’t; my faulty memory may be found out due to evidence one way or another. But what of my motivations?
What if I insisted I wrote something, knowing I did not, but wished to claim the work of someone else? What if I hated someone so much I convinced myself the story was true, could even pass a lie detector test because I, in fact, believed what I was saying? Maybe I did believe it so much because I was unable to be truthful with myself about my own actions?
We all tell ourselves lies everyday. Just to get through the day. Most of them aren’t so big and bad as accusing someone of theft. We usually don’t lie to hurt others but rather to protect ourselves. We lie to ourselves about the deeper things we cannot face, little and big vanities alike.
Whatever George Eliot aka Mary Ann Evans aka Mary Anne Cross writes to her friends she is also writing to herself. She has her reasons as much as her denials to motivate her. And so, even a historian with access to public and private works, letters and diaries, is still limited by the memories and motivations of their subject.
Did Eliot consider her last marriage an act of dependence? An independent or vain act that would ensure her legacy? Was it just easier to count on someone in her old age, easier to tell people that, or what?
Who knows.
It’s intellectual fun to pluck at the strings left behind, like clues leading to the the ball of yarn that is a hero’s psyche. But we don’t know. We cannot read their soul.
This is why we have so many biographies. Even after the memoirs and autobiographies (with and without the help of others), even after hundreds of other biographies, there’s still room for more.
Some people who count such things say there are 600 books on Marilyn Monroe alone — with new releases each year. Because she continues to fascinate me us. Forget the suicide-or-murder debate; forget the motivations, cover-ups, bungles, etc. of other people; we can never know what went on in Marilyn’s head or heart because no one, not even her contemporaries and confidants, knew that.
Marilyn and Mary Anne, and all the others, will continue to fascinate us because we will never ever know. We will never be truly sated by any “definitive” book on a person because we can never ever have the definitive answers.
Whatever the subjects of biographies and autobiographies leave for us, whatever they tell us, remains forever between the memory gaps, what they believed, the stories they’ve told themselves, what they believed they needed to protect when they told others their stories…
That is unsettling.
It’s a realization that we cannot ever really know anyone.
And so we continue to read, investigate, interpret, what we can. …Still hoping we will find The Truth.
It’s easy to be pessimistic today, especially when it comes to business. Those of us not in the upper two percent, those of us with little in our pockets but our sweaty palms, those of us who don’t just feel beaten-up by big business but have the financial and even physical marks to prove it, those of us who are the “other” under the heels of the “us” that is Corporate America, we can easily draw the conclusion that the only time virtue comes up is when the fat cats greedily giggle over their “there’s no virtue in business besides money” mantra.
These feelings infiltrate, or, if you prefer “trickle down” (the only time the principal actually appears to work) into every aspect of our world, at every level. From realized fears of neglect and victimization in our political system to the mentalities of school bullies, controlling abusers, and national “pro-life” terrorists., it seems we are increasingly forced to live in a black & white world of virtue — and to consider which side we are on… Should we remain the down-trodden good guy who will finish last, if at all? Or should we give in to the dark side, just to survive?
I hear this echoed in discussions everywhere. Activists wondering if they should adopt the same tactics their opponents successfully use. Entrepreneurs who cringe at identifying themselves as such because of what “being in business” implies. Parents wondering how they can continue to teach their children to be “good,” “fair,” and “generous,” when their children see what the rich and ruthless reap.
It seems hopeless.
Enter hope. Or rather enchantment.
Enchantment: The Art of Changing Hearts, Minds, and Actions
Enchantment can occur in villages, stores, dealerships, offices, boardrooms, and on the Internet. It causes voluntary change of hearts and minds and therefore actions. It is more than manipulating people to help you to get your way. Enchantment transforms situations and relationships. It converts hostility into civility. It reshapes civility into affinity. It changes skeptics and cynics into believers.
Firstly, Enchantment is a breath of fresh, good, air; it’s an affirmation that good guys and gals don’t have to finish last. And there are real stories, real cases, of real good people who are examples.
Secondly, Kawasaki outlines the principals of enchantment — sound psychological principals and insights into human behavior that are easy to read and even easier to comprehend.
Thirdly, the book inspires action. Heart lightened with the affirmation and validation that Good is indeed good, heart warmed by the examples of Good successful people, and armed with the knowledge of how it all works, you, the reader, are inspired to live enchantingly.
It’s good that you are inspired because the author is now going to offer you opportunities to implement the strategies.
Kawasaki provides a checklist of things to consider and opportunities to explore, rather like self-help books do. (In the book’s Coverphon, there’s evidence neither the author nor the publisher would like this “soft” self-help comparison; but I think the work is to be commended for it’s uplifting, affirming, readily understood, easy to incorporate strategies as well as it’s “hard” business acumen.)
And, yes, the author includes plenty of tips and methods for businesses and entrepreneurs to put to work online (i.e. push and pull technologies such as email, Twitter, Facebook, websites and blogs, etc.).
While nearly all stories, prompts and checklists are business related (including chapters on how to enchant your boss, resist enchantment, etc.), there’s no reason the information couldn’t be applied to any facet of your life, including parenting. Where else does one need to model integrity more?
(There are even concrete stories for you to counter wise-ass remarks from kids who dare you to prove that greed and might are the only ways to get ahead — in fact, stories and examples that suggest that life ought not to be viewed as a race in which one must “get ahead,” but rather how to work for the betterment of many.)
In short, Enchantment is just the breath of fresh air that good guys and gals need to reaffirm their vows to be a person of delightful integrity. It gives us the tips to enchant — and the permission to be enchanted with ourselves.
PS If you do buy a copy of Enchantment, you might want to know about this enchanting offer from Guy:
When people anywhere in the world buy a copy of Enchantment in any form (paper, recording, or ebook), they can get a free copy of Garr’s book called Presentation Zen.
Presentation Zen is one of the best books ever written about making great presentations. Seth Godin said this about it: “Please don’t buy this book! Once people start making better presentations, mine won’t look so good.”
Disclaimer: I was given a free review copy of this book. While the free copy was appreciated and enjoyed, the fact that it was free has no bearing on this review or the contents of this post — other than the legal requirement to make such a statement.
The Archive Series by the David Garcia Studio are art installation pieces, experimental architectural platforms, specifically “investigations on space and books, aiming to blur the borders between art and design. Clearly non functional, they aim to appeal to the senses.” However, this second installation does have a function — serving as a hamster wheel for readers, or, if you prefer, an alternative to the exercise bike, treadmill, and other gym equipment that the bored read upon. The Archive Series is available for sale in custom made pieces too.
Found via this post at the Bookshelf blog.
Der verkannte Bimpfi
Found via Micky The Pixel.
And the Dewey Decimal system.
Because, after all, Library of the Living Dead is a guide to surviving a Zombie invasion put out by McPherson College’s Miller Library. Don’t let the comic book look fool ya; libraries are about survival, yo.
Seems Juliet Lowell is off to a rockin’ start with this joke book “for adults only” — the cover features a dumb blonde joke (cover image) and a sexist poke (“for adults and adultresses”).
Via WFMU.
An ad for Life of Lincoln, by Ida M. Tarbell (found on page 65 of the March 1925 issue of The Mentor magazine), which thought the best promotional effort would be to highlight on of Lincoln’s personal checks. The check, “check number 52,” was made payable to “Colored man, with one leg.”
Don’t tell him your first car was a Studebaker
If he ask if you’re on the pill, he’s probably not talking
about the hormone pill you take to help you through your menopause.
I’d love to see more about this book, if not the actual book itself; but I’ve not been able to find anything else about it.
According to the cover of Tips for Vintage Women with Young Lover, the book and its illustrations are by B.A. Jackson. The Harlem Writer’s Guild says it’s by Betty Ann Jackson; but further research shows that might be a typo and the author is Betty Anne Jackson.
If you know anymore about this book or where to purchase it, let me know.
I’ll admit I knew nothing about this retro joke book when I snagged it at an antique shop; all I needed to pick it up was a stork on the front, and the $1 price penciled inside allowed me to bring it home.
(Son Of A Son Of… 101 Aggie Jokes, Vol. 3, copyright 1969, Gigem Press (my copy is a First Printing, September, 1969) was created to be a postal piece.)
The front cover birth control gag goes like this:
Do you know what Aggies do with birth control pills?
They feed them to storks.
And that should be enough to satisfy a dollar purchase — but I’m obsessive, remember?
First I had to learn what an “Aggie” was or is: students (current and former) at Texas A&M University are called Aggies after the school’s agricultural roots. Then Barry Popik had to educate me on what turns out to be a rather fascinating bit of history about these very books:
Aggie jokes became legendary because of two events in 1963 and 1965. In 1963, Texas A&M started to admit women. The University of Texas (already co-ed) and others saw humor in this situation. In 1965, the book 101 Aggie Jokes was published. The book would go through several reprintings and new editions.
And so it seems this little joke book was destined to find its way into my feminism collection. Even if the book isn’t all about gender or the sexes, it fits the bill; here’s Exhibit B:
Did you hear about the Aggie who thought a sanitary belt was the first drink out of the bottle?
Ba-dum-dum!
I’ll couch my estimation of this kitschy book’s value with the publishers sentiments on the title page:
This collection of jokes has been assembled from general public sources. It is not the intention of the publishers to ridicule or degrade any institution or individual. The purpose is to chronicle an important chapter in American humor.
To cover my own ass, I’ll also include “gender” along with institutions and individuals. *wink*
FYI, the publishers name is based on another Aggie reference, the Gig ’em greeting.
For those of you who question my concerns regarding ethics in medical studies — most heatedly debated in my discussion regarding the “science” of “deadly corsets” (the heat there surprised me greatly; I expected it regarding the flack to come regarding feminist use of the corset), I urge you to read Susan Perry’s Too many clinical trials still exploit the poor and other vulnerable people, says U of M bioethics professor:
Are there enough protections in place?
No, says Dr. Carl Elliott, a professor of bioethics at the University of Minnesota and author of the just-published “White Coat, Black Hat: Adventures on the Dark Side of Medicine.” (Last month, Elliott also published a Mother Jones article that focused on the 2004 suicide of a young mentally ill man who was enrolled at the time in a U of M industry-funded clinical trial of the antipsychotic drug Seroquel.)
Clinical trials can still exploit study subjects, only the exploitation has taken a different form, Elliott told me in a phone interview earlier this week. Medical researchers may no longer be going out and intentionally making people sick, as they did in the Guatemala study (and in the infamous Tuskegee syphilis study), but they still can — and do — recruit vulnerable people (the uninsured, the poor) and often fail to give them adequate treatment while the subjects are in the trial.
“In a lot of ways, what’s going on now is even worse,” said Elliott.
You know I’m getting this book.
I’m putting it on my wish list right after I puke; it’s not so satisfying being right when the issue is so horribly wrong.
Miss Fussypants cracks me up. This is what she wrote (at her typically NWS blog) about The Spiked Heel, by Richard Marsten (1957):
“The hardest-hitting, best-written novel on big business since EXECUTIVE SUITE,” you say, hmmm?
Seeing as I never hoid of either, I’ll need to take your word for it, Mr. Sterling North — if that’s even your real name.
I found the following gem in the 1977 J. Gruber’s Hagers-Town, Town and Country Almanack, along with the usually almanac-ery, household tips, and a few grand ads (that I’ll be showing off later). It’s a prediction method for pregnant women to discover the gender of their baby.
In case the name Aunt Lydia sounds familiar, this is not the Aunt Lydia from The Handmaid’s Tale who was responsible for teaching the enslaved women called “handmaids.” (The movie adaptation is where I first fell in love with Natasha Richardson, may she rest in peace.) This Aunt Lydia was Miss Lydia Cline, “a retired practical nurse who lived in and around Hagerstown,” whose method of prediction was heralded to have “an accuracy of over 80%!”
Even though Aunt Lydia had passed away in 1973, the almanac’s 1977 proclamation was to ensure readers that they could still accurately predict the gender of unborn children — under the following conditions:
Here’s an example of just how Aunt Lydia’s formula works. Say, for instance, your last child was born in 1973 on the first day of January; the birth sign under which the child was born would be Sagittarius, the Archer. As the sign did not change but remained the same for the following day, the 2nd, that year, there would be no change in the sex of your next child. If, however, the child had been born January second, it would still have been born under the sign of Sagittarius, but because the following day, the 3rd, the sign changed to Capricorn, the Goat, there would be a change in the sex of the next child.
(One assumes you’ll need the astrological information as provided in past issues of this almanc; for those of child bearing years, who want more recent issues, check the official Hagerstown Town and Country Almanack website. The article also notes that the simple formula does not work with a first child, nor for induced or Caesarian delivered births.)
If only author Margaret Atwood had known of this Aunt Lydia and her prophetic equation… With such knowledge, the gender of babies could have been more than divined, but planned.
It may not have prevented Gilead from increasing the number of gender-crimes (for that’s how, you’ll remember, women were forced into becoming handmaids) or otherwise improved the lot of women, but it would have raised other interesting avenues of thought.
However, Hagerstown’s Aunt Lydia and her formula were incorrect regarding my second child. Not sure if that signals failure on the part of Aunt Lydia, a missing part of the prediction formula retained to secrecy, or if, per the usual, I am just relegated to the position of minority.
Hey, that conference I’m presenting at, the first annual Bookmark Collectors Virtual Convention, has been written up in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. Which reminded me that I had not mentioned the event here, pestering you to attend. So, here it is, “Will you please attend the convention?”
I think there’s still some free commemorative bookmarks available, so check that out before you register.
And, in case you missed it, here’s my story about incidentally collecting bookmarks: When I Was A Child, I Bookmarked As A Child (Or, Seeking The Perfect Bookmark).
Image Credits: This bookmark advertising Paul Foster & Co. kid gloves also features palmistry; it was submitted to the convention’s gallery by Laine Farley.
Welcome to the 36th Book Review Blog Carnival — and welcome to my weirdly organized little library.
Why a “weirdly organized little library?” Well…
Doing these carnivals is always a lot of work — fun, but work. It’s not just the volume of submissions, but the sorting through them… You have to categorize them, and I find that “by subject” is nearly as subjective as a book review itself. And, as a reader, it’s hard not to “buy subjects” aka find books which will make your wish list, if not your to-be-read pile. Which is a completely personal thing.
So, this carnival is broken down into rather arbitrary classifications. Other than the first set (intrigued enough to buy), they are in no particular order; and they are in no particular order within the categories either.
Intrigued Enough By The Reviews To Put Them On My Wish List:
Nicole Langan of Tribute Book Reviews says that Silent Girl, a collection of short stories by Tricia Dower, is “a tour de force from an author employing Shakespearean characters as a springboard for illustrating the condition of modern women.” (Sounds completely yummy!)
Sparky Bates got the old synapses firing reading Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar, by Thomas Cathcart and Daniel Klein over at Accidental Reads.
Cold SnapDragon reviews Plains Song, regrettably said to be the only book by Wright Morris still in print.
Frequent Shoppers & Brown-Nosers:
At Mysteries in Paradise, KerrieS has been busy. She reviewed The Brass Verdict, a legal thriller set in Los Angeles by Michael Connelly; Consequences Of Sin, crime fiction by Clare Langley-Hawthorne set in Edwardian London; Blood Of The Wicked, crime fiction by Leighton Gage set in Brazil involving the assassination of a bishop; and Stephen King’s latest release for Kindle, UR. (When does she eat?!)
Dimes2Vines has been reading well, and presumably snacking less, reviewing Red Light, Green Light, Eat Right, a book designed to help parents teach their children about healthy habits, and Prime-Time Health, by Dr. William Sears with his wife, Martha Sear, RN.
Bernadette reviews Mistress of the Art of Death, historical crime fiction that’s “loaded with wit,” and The Rule Book, “brilliant debut crime fiction novel” by Rob Kitchin, over at Reactions to Reading.
Brown-Nosers Who Made Me Put Two Books On My Wish List:
At The Truth About Lies, Jim Murdoch sinks his teeth into The Mimic Men by V S Naipaul, a novel about British rule and dependency — which really really whets my appetite. He also reviews the latest volume of The Paris Review Interviews.
Over at Home Biz Notes, Mary Emma Allen got snuggly under the covers with some strange bedfellows… She’s posted reviews of Building Brand Value the Playboy Way and This I Accomplish: Harriet Powers’ Bible Quilt and Other Pieces.
Kids, Parents & Home:
Dave Roller, Home School Dad, was researching poets for a poetry teaching unit when he found Poems for Children Nowhere Near Old Enough to Vote, a book of children’s poetry by Carl Sandburg published posthumously. He says the book is “fantastic!” (This might yet make my wish list…)
Shaunta Alburger dishes on Gluten-Free Baking Classics by Annailse G. Roberts over at Live Once Juicy.
Amanda CMJ names and reviews her Favorite Book in 2009: Nurtureshock over at Yield to Pedestrian.
Fraidy-Cat:
Terence Gillespie (understandably) gets whipped into a frenzy reading One Nation, Under Surveillance — Privacy From the Watchful Eye over at Your Optimal.
Tim, A Progressive on the Prairie, reviews The Last Train from Hiroshima by Charles Pellegrino. (Which reminds me, it’s always strange to say you love a book about such horrific real-life things, isn’t it?)
Erm, ditto my sentiments for Anne Frank: Her Life in Words and Pictures, reviewed by Alyce at At Home With Books (which could have gone in the kids/parenting section too, I suppose — but it’s horrific too, right?)
OK, maybe it’s not much better when it’s fiction which plays on real fears… Meg reviews The Lovely Bones (now a much-advertised film) over at Simpson’s Paradox.
Speaking of real fears, over at at I’ll Never Forget the Day I Read a Book!, Clark Bjorke read Going Rogue, so we don’t have to. Though I do think you’ll want to read the review *wink*
Awesome Idea For A Book Club:
At Be the Change Bookclub, Meg presents Small is Possible: Life in a Local Economy, a collection of stories about the successes and failures of attempts to build a sustainable economy and thriving community.
Fiction:
At Incurable Disease of Writing, Missy Frye says Listen by Rene Gutteridge is “a superbly crafted treatise on taking responsibility for our words as it lays bare the damage they can do.” Proof that truth lives in fiction.
Ms. Smarty Pants reviews Potato Branch by Joe Richard Morgan — a series of short stories by her high school English teacher about his childhood. (That had to be weird, huh?)
Robert Hall can’t contain himself — he must talk about Just After Sunset, Duma Key, and Under The Dome over at All Things Stephen King.
Money Matters:
At Blueprint for Financial Prosperity, Jim recommends that we all Get Financially Naked. (What else can seduce – err, induce you to go read it besides the title?!)
At RabbitFunds.com Adam Williams was pleasantly surprised by inspirational author Richard Paul Evans’ The 5 Lessons a Millionaire Taught Me.
The Smarter Wallet reviews The Smart Cookies’ Guide To Making More Dough — with a foreword by Jean Chatzky.
Christian:
Glenda A. Bixler reviews A Slow Burn, the second book in the Defiance, Texas Trilogy Christian fiction series over at Book Reader’s Heaven.
Sandie of Bumples Family First offers up another helping of Chicken Soup For the Soul: Count Your Blessings.
At Sue’s Book Reviews, Sue reviews A Smile on the Face of God, by Adrian Plass. She says it’s worth hunting down.
Free?!
Andy Hayes of Travel Online Partners (TOP) submitted his brief review of Seth Godin’s new ebook, What Matters Now saying, “Just because it’s an eBook doesn’t mean it can’t change your life.” I can’t argue with that — or a free download. *wink*
Thanks to all who submitted — I found a lot of cool books and blogs too!
Got book reviews? Submit them to the carnival! Love books? Visit the carnival home page for past & future editions of the carnival.
I love these vintage cast iron cat bookends — their snarling faces and their wide-to-the-side ears are a warning to those who would handle my books without purr-mission or without great care.
The seller, wheelboy antiques, says these bookends are by Snead Co., and are marked with the date of 1925 — and apparently, some people think these cats are bats?!
Need a gift for the bibliophiles who dig mysteries? Or someone with a twisted sense of humor? How about gifts (mugs, t-shirts, posters, ties, etc.) featuring prints of an altered art piece titled That Nosey Miss Marple:
If you live near Miss Marple — or another nosy neighbor — don’t give her easy clues by cleaning out your refrigerator of dismembered body parts outside.
When V.C. Andrews’ Flowers In The Attic was published in 1979, it became all the rage for a teenage girl to read it — and by ‘the rage’ you can presume not only the inclusion of the outrage of those who prefer to censor for all rather than interact with their children as well as the rebellion of teens who wanted to flaunt their right to inflame. And I was one of them.
I can’t imagine there’s anyone who doesn’t, 30 years later, know the story of the four Dollanganger children locked in an attic. But if you don’t…
A) you can find reviews via the comments and ‘links to this post’ at The V.C. Andrews Movement / Reading Challenge
and 2) you might want to stop reading this post now — because while I’m not going give a classic book review, I will be discussing the reading of this book and my reactions to it, which certainly will contain spoilers.
I don’t recall buying the book (I believe my younger sister, ever much-hipper and popular than I, got it and I feasted on her literary leftovers), but in any case, I definitely recall reading Flowers In The Attic as a teen. (It was the paperback version, so that would have been when I was about 16.) In fact, it was an incredibly vivid book, which left its marks (marks — not scars) on me. It haunted me so that I had planned to name my son Cory, after that ill-fated twin, in some sort of sentimental attempt to wipe away the sins or offer retribution via resurrection. But before I would come to that decision I would have to find redemption for myself and my reading habits.
I was horrified reading Flowers In The Attic. I’d read Gothic novels before; I’d read so-called smut before. But nothing disturbed me like this V.C. Andrews novel had — and the rumors that it was based in truth did not help my ambiguity at all.
I was repelled by what I was reading — yet compelled to continue reading it. I couldn’t put it down and walk away from it… Why was I reading this creepy story about a cruelty and performed on children by family members? Especially as I’d elected to neither watch Sybil nor read the book just a few years before simply because it was too horrifying. How was I now reading this book — and sympathizing with incest and rape?! And, heaven help me, I was itching to get the next book in the series. It was scary and confusing and it made me question my own morality.
I could have gone to my parents with my feelings; they were open and easy to talk with, as I’ve described before. But I figured whatever I was going to have to articulate to them, I ought to be able to articulate to myself — and so figure it out for myself from there. And let’s be honest, there was a significant about of shame which kept me from admitting what I was thinking and feeling to anyone else.
So I endeavored to struggle through it on my own.
Eventually I learned that my fascination was simply that of a reader drawn to a compelling story, into the lives and emotions of characters. The creepy and horrifying things were supposed to be creepy and horrifying — I was supposed to cringe and feel crazed for those characters (and despise others). And if I allowed (or was willing to have) the author manipulate and suspend my disbelief into feeling for these characters to the extent that I sympathized (or even romanticized in the Gothic sense) the matters of sibling sex and rape (if not classic violent rape, that scene certainly raises questions of ability to consent), I was not some lewd damaged being caught up in some literary Stockholm syndrome-esque relationship with the author — the very fact that I was bothered enough to be forced to sort through so many shades of grey (and pure evil) proved that. If I was engrossed enough in the characters to want to cheer them on through darkness to some sort of victory and happiness, I was simply human.
By the time the sequel, Petals on the Wind, was released in paperback, I had no qualms about reading it. I would go on, with a clear conscious, to read the entire series (save for the prequel), but I never did name anyone Cory. I got over it.
Being reminded of this book recently, I wondered if it would still have such a powerful effect on me; so I decided to get a copy and read it again.
I titled this post There Are Flowers In The Attic for two reasons. The first one is that in rereading the book, I was again moved. Yes, it’s lighter fiction than I am used to reading (perhaps not young adult reading per se, but light in literary terms), but the dark subject matter still moves. I did spot continuity errors (in two places, Andrews confuses the two twins with one another, which made for bumpy & annoying rereading), but it’s still a solidly creepy, horrific novel.
The second reason the flowers remain in the attic refers to a parenting opportunity.
When the 13 year old spotted the ‘scary cover’ of the book, she hinted (she’s forever hinting, not asking) that she’d like to read it. Being that there is a strong sibling effect, I knew the oldest daughter would then want to read what ‘we’ were reading.
Both are pretty strong readers, but the eldest, 20, is an Auspie, so she might have additional confusion reading this book, and the 13 year old has abandonment and other issues resulting from her mentally ill, neglectful biological mother. Suffice it to say, I had concerns how either of them would process the book’s subject matter. So I sat them both down to talk about the book and its content.
I told them that I had no problems with either of them reading the book, but that I wanted them to know that the book was scary — and at was at this point that they interrupted me, laughing about how they watch and enjoy scarier movies than I do. Which is true, but, as I explained to them, Flowers In The Attic was far scarier because it wasn’t about vampires, zombies or other fictional monsters; people did the horrible things.
Mothers and grandmothers abused their own children (the girls’ faces fell) — and as a result, the children themselves did things which would, I supposed based on my own reaction to the book, make the girls uncomfortable.
“What things?” they asked.
“There’s some inappropriate sex,” I replied, not wanting to completely spoil the book for them.
There was a pause; no laughing now.
I told them that the book had made me feel creepy and I was ashamed I continued to read it — so much so, that I was too embarrassed to talk to my parents (their benevolent grandparents) about it. So if they wanted to read it, and they felt uncomfortable, they should feel free to quit reading it, talk to someone about how they felt, or both. (This is a general ‘rule’ we teach the kids; but I felt the need to be specific about it with this book.)
The girls looked at each other and then at me, sitting there with my eyebrows arched into question marks. The 13 year old passed on reading it (I suspect it was the ‘sex’ part; she’s quite the prude). The eldest took a look at the book, read the back of it, and said she’d look for more books by the author at the library the next time she was there.
On one hand, I fear I may have not only ruined a potential good read for them but removed their individual opportunity to struggle with their own morality… My intent was not to censor or turn them off of the book.
But on the other hand, I was honest about the book, the subject matter and issues which might arise, and left it to them to decide for themselves what they could handle and/or were interested in reading; and that, in my opinion, is what parents should do.
Even if I denied them the chance to bloom as readers with this specific book, there will be others — there are always others. I hope our continuing discussions about books, and my respect for them as readers, is simply more seed sowing.
FYI, The Complete V.C. Andrews has a contest to win a copy of the newly released Flowers in the Attic/Petals on the Wind bind-up (two books in one) edition to give away.
I have a modest collection of vintage vanity items. (My collection and I have even been featured in Collectors News magazine.) And indeed, I’ve often wondered about the vast popularity of Rachel as a powder shade. I’d rather believed the hype that this particular shade was named after a popular actress at the time — but in Antique Personal Possessions, Silvia Druitt gives another possible reason:
In the very limited colour ranges obtainable then and up to the 1930’s, one frequently finds the colour Rachel. This takes its name either from the actress of that name, or, more probably, from a certain Madame Rachel who set up a Salon in New Bond Street, London, in 1863, and had a great success. Alas for her many clients, most of whom wished to keep their visits dark, her most lucrative profession turned out to be a sideline in blackmail. After mulcting many, she ended her career as a beauty specialist in prison.
The blackmail was possible because at that time, colored cosmetics were not for ladies, only for prostitutes and/or actresses — the latter of which was equally reviled and in fact, the words ‘actress’ and ‘whore’ were synonymous to many. This whore/Madonna beauty thing is partly why I began collecting/studying such things, so how intriguing to discover Madam Rachel!
For more on Madam Rachel, I send you to Madame Rachel: Beautiful for Ever at Victorian History, and to Internet Archive for The extraordinary life & trial of Madame Rachel at the Central Criminal Court, Old Bailey, London : on the 22 23, 24 & 25, September, 1868. (If the link doesn’t work; search Archive.org for “Madame Rachel at the Central Criminal Court” and you’ll find it.)
I now eagerly await the publication of Helen Rappaport’s Beautiful for Ever: Madame Rachel of Bond Street -Cosmetician, Con-artist and Blackmailer for more information on this woman who spurned society and spawned so many powdered faces.
