Yesterday evening I finished reading So Big by Edna Ferber. I found it in Chicago, in a bookshelf of Women and Children First, my favourite feminist bookshop in town. You can't find these things browsing on the web, you need a proper bookshop to find them.
So Big was a great read. The book is about many things.
The telluric power of women:
Selina, the heroine of the story, is a strong, creative, earthy woman, with dreams of getting to know the world, all of it. She ends up marrying young to a Dutch farmer in High Prairie, to the West of Chicago. Selina becomes Mrs DeJong. When her husband dies, leaving her alone with their son, Selina has finally the opportunity to put into practice all her shrewd ideas for developing the farm. Her asparagus become all the rage in Chicago. The rounder, more intense characters are all independent women, by choice or by circumstance. They seem to be the only ones who know what real life is all about. The other women are mocked in their dependence to men, fashion, money, status, convention. Dallas, the female art student that shows up at the end of the book, embodies the power of nature, of feeling, of art, of beauty, of being true to oneself (and succeeding in life precisely because of that).
The spiritual power of beauty:
Selina sees beauty in everything, even in cabbages. The Dutch farmers in High Prairie, where she first goes to be a teacher after her father dies in a shooting accident (he was a successful casino gambler!), don't get this. They like her, but find her "special". Selina likes books. She likes to see the fields bursting with life. Farm produce is more than that, it is the vital energy of the sun and the earth transformed. She understands that what comes from the soil is what gives people their food, and in the process what sustains that great urban enterprise called Chicago at the turn of the XIX century.
The power of following your heart:
Dirk, Selina's son, goes to university to become an architect (with the profit Selina makes from selling her farm produce, including the hogs, of which Dirk is ashamed). But he quits the profession and joins the banking world to sell bonds. Dirk soon becomes very wealthy and part of the jeunesse dorée of Chicago. Selina is disappointed. Dirk sold his soul to the "green devil", the dollar, and abandoned his vocation for beauty, for art. Selina wants Dirk to be curious, to see the world, to open his eyes and ears to its diversity, its colours, its smells, its rites, its peoples. She wants her son to be genuine, authentic, real. Selina wants Dirk to be successful, but also to follow his heart. His heart will empower him and bring him to a place of fulfillment. Eventually Dirk understands this when he meets Dallas, but could it have been too late? One hopes not.
Although written in 1924, the book spoke to me as if it had been written today. It disparages the pursuit of money for the sake of being rich. Success is good, wealth is good, but only when obtained through honest, productive means, and used for our personal growth and that of others around us. In the book, Ferber criticises the quick wealth obtained through financial manipulation as being devoid of humanity, solidity, realness. And it's interesting that she wrote this book just a few years before the great depression of 1929, caused by a financial market that had grown too big and artificial to be sustainable. Sounds like the current crisis we are going through...
So Big won the Pulitzer Prize in 1925. It was a best-seller in those days and was published in many European languages. Ferber is also the author of Show Boat (1926) - the novel became a huge success when adapted to the Broadway musical of 1927 - and of Giant (1952), which also became quite famous when made into a film (1956), the last one in which James Dean appeared before dying in a car accident.
I think Ms Ferber, who never married (wink, wink!) was a Thoroughly Modern Milly Girl! Just the way I like.
And I agree with Selina, cabbages are beautiful!
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
Saturday, 1 January 2011
simpleton's economics
Denise was here for New Year's Eve. Late at night we spoke about the economy. I brought it up. I mean, I don't know very much about economics but there are a few things that have been bothering me lately about the way European governments have been managing the crisis:
1. there's always money available, not just millions but billions, to save the banks and bail them out, but there's never any money to keep investing in education, and health, and transport, and social welfare, and pensions, all crucial elements of social cohesion and social peace, and the fundamental pillars of the only kind of prosperity that really matters, i.e. quality of life;
2. the banks in question, happy enough during their years of bonanza to keep the government away from their profits, were only too excited to receive the State's bailouts when their investments faltered; for a while they remained coy about their extravagant bonuses but soon after they started distributing them again to their top employees as if nothing had happened, just business as usual. It's immoral and enraging, and there seems to be little political will and power to do something about it (despite the comforting speeches by politicians);
3. the austerity measures in place will hit young people the hardest, many of whom will see their hopes of a proper education and job completely destroyed. What's the point of austerity of this nature when the end result is social instability, strife and possible mayhem? I'm not surprised when I see the protests in Greece, or France, or the UK, or Ireland, I'm just surprised that there are so few of them still;
4. the bond speculators are all out there sharpening their shark's teeth and they seem to be untouchable. They obviously don't care that their betting gambles may result in the misfortune of entire nations, not to mention the lives of very real people. Are they really untouchable or is the system so that nobody cares to bring them down?
5. the more I look at Germany the more I realise the fallacy of the boom years of the 1980's and 1990's, during which we were made to believe that a service-based economy would save us all and bring us fortune and happiness. Well, in Germany they kept their manufacture and they continue to take pride in their "made in Germany" and in the apprenticeship tradition that goes hand in hand. No wonder their economy is strong and was the first one to recover in real terms. Yes, we need services, but the destruction of industry in many European countries gave way to a virtual economy that once collapsed leaves nothing behind, just a gap hard to fill.
I know, simpleton's economics. But one still wonders...
1. there's always money available, not just millions but billions, to save the banks and bail them out, but there's never any money to keep investing in education, and health, and transport, and social welfare, and pensions, all crucial elements of social cohesion and social peace, and the fundamental pillars of the only kind of prosperity that really matters, i.e. quality of life;
2. the banks in question, happy enough during their years of bonanza to keep the government away from their profits, were only too excited to receive the State's bailouts when their investments faltered; for a while they remained coy about their extravagant bonuses but soon after they started distributing them again to their top employees as if nothing had happened, just business as usual. It's immoral and enraging, and there seems to be little political will and power to do something about it (despite the comforting speeches by politicians);
3. the austerity measures in place will hit young people the hardest, many of whom will see their hopes of a proper education and job completely destroyed. What's the point of austerity of this nature when the end result is social instability, strife and possible mayhem? I'm not surprised when I see the protests in Greece, or France, or the UK, or Ireland, I'm just surprised that there are so few of them still;
4. the bond speculators are all out there sharpening their shark's teeth and they seem to be untouchable. They obviously don't care that their betting gambles may result in the misfortune of entire nations, not to mention the lives of very real people. Are they really untouchable or is the system so that nobody cares to bring them down?
5. the more I look at Germany the more I realise the fallacy of the boom years of the 1980's and 1990's, during which we were made to believe that a service-based economy would save us all and bring us fortune and happiness. Well, in Germany they kept their manufacture and they continue to take pride in their "made in Germany" and in the apprenticeship tradition that goes hand in hand. No wonder their economy is strong and was the first one to recover in real terms. Yes, we need services, but the destruction of industry in many European countries gave way to a virtual economy that once collapsed leaves nothing behind, just a gap hard to fill.
I know, simpleton's economics. But one still wonders...
guitar lessons
Georgie had her second guitar lesson today. Her teacher is a young woman from Lithuania. When we bought the guitar early this week Georgie said: "my dream came true". She had been asking for a guitar for more than a year. Jarl and I guessed this was a serious wish that deserved to be fulfilled. It's nice to sit with Georgie and the teacher at the end of each lesson and hear her play a couple of notes on the guitar. Georgie looks so proud and happy. And so do we. One more opportunity for us all to grow together, to explore new horizons. To grow. To learn. To grow.
Tuesday, 28 December 2010
sinister people
I was in the kitchen this morning when it occurred to me that there are quite a few sinister people around; sinister people like the archbishop of Malines-Bruxelles, the highest Catholic Church authority in this strange country called Belgium, who for so long, together with his other pals in frocks, has been hiding the cases of sexual abuse of children by priests. Hiding, concealing, lying, transforming reality, like the worst of Stalinist communication experts.
A man who dares compare the situation of sexually abused children with that of children raised by same-gender parents, or born through IVF. I mean, how can someone be so stupid to actually equate abuse with love?
A man who says that AIDS is a sort of "immanent justice", as if those suffering from the disease were to be made responsible for bringing it upon themselves. I know this is the obvious question, but what does he think about children, or people who were contaminated via blood transfusions, or women who are forced to have unprotected sex? But even those who engage in risky sexual practices more or less consciously, do they deserve to get sick and die? What kind of god does this cruel man serve? Sinister.
And to think that the lawyer for this shit of a person lives in our building... how does he sleep at night? Drunk with shame I would hope!
Sinister, creepy people, all around us. One must be able to say it, and to shout it to their face, so that they realise that they can't fool us with their blessed crosses and rings, their mantles of silk, like veils covering the truth. The truth always ends up coming out. I can hear them tremble. I cherish their doom.
A man who dares compare the situation of sexually abused children with that of children raised by same-gender parents, or born through IVF. I mean, how can someone be so stupid to actually equate abuse with love?
A man who says that AIDS is a sort of "immanent justice", as if those suffering from the disease were to be made responsible for bringing it upon themselves. I know this is the obvious question, but what does he think about children, or people who were contaminated via blood transfusions, or women who are forced to have unprotected sex? But even those who engage in risky sexual practices more or less consciously, do they deserve to get sick and die? What kind of god does this cruel man serve? Sinister.
And to think that the lawyer for this shit of a person lives in our building... how does he sleep at night? Drunk with shame I would hope!
Sinister, creepy people, all around us. One must be able to say it, and to shout it to their face, so that they realise that they can't fool us with their blessed crosses and rings, their mantles of silk, like veils covering the truth. The truth always ends up coming out. I can hear them tremble. I cherish their doom.
Upstairs, Downstairs
BBC TV revisited Upstairs, Downstairs this Christmas. Three new episodes with brand new stories about the Bellamy Family, a lot of new characters and a few old faces. Thank you, thank you, thank you for this revival. I loved the new series.
I used to watch Upstairs, Downstairs as a child in Portugal in the late 1970's. It was called A família Bellamy. The whole household, well, just my parents and I really, used to stop everything to watch this quaintest of shows, so far removed from our daily reality, our history, our culture, but yet so close to us, with all the humanity that poured through the screen.
The new series was simply perfect. The actors fantastic and the story lines enthralling. It had been a long time since I had enjoyed myself so much in front of a TV set. I particularly enjoyed the more serious take on history - the situation in Germany just before War World II and the spectre of fascism hanging in the English air too (Mosley et al.).
I was getting used to the characters, but after three days in a row the entertainment stopped. I suppose it's better that way. Better to miss them than eventually get bored by it. Anyway, it was a perfect moment of TV.
I used to watch Upstairs, Downstairs as a child in Portugal in the late 1970's. It was called A família Bellamy. The whole household, well, just my parents and I really, used to stop everything to watch this quaintest of shows, so far removed from our daily reality, our history, our culture, but yet so close to us, with all the humanity that poured through the screen.
The new series was simply perfect. The actors fantastic and the story lines enthralling. It had been a long time since I had enjoyed myself so much in front of a TV set. I particularly enjoyed the more serious take on history - the situation in Germany just before War World II and the spectre of fascism hanging in the English air too (Mosley et al.).
I was getting used to the characters, but after three days in a row the entertainment stopped. I suppose it's better that way. Better to miss them than eventually get bored by it. Anyway, it was a perfect moment of TV.
Saturday, 25 December 2010
Barcelona - Promenade Concert
Today I wrote to Zé (my former partner) and to Paulo Filipe (a friend of ours), to tell them this:
"I'm listening right now to Promenade Concert by Carles Santos and it brought me memories of our holidays in Barcelona, centuries ago. Do you remember? I bought this record at the Miró Foundation, on top of the Mountain, Montjuïc. Georgie loves this performance-like revolutionary music; passionate, scarlet red in the lit-up night. Who would have guessed? It's not an easy piece, but it's irresistible.
It brings back memories of the Ramblas, the profusion of flowers and birds early in the morning; of the newspaper stands open until late at night. Memories also of the small pensión where we stayed. Of the suffocating heat in the bedroom. Barrio Chino, wasn't it? I recall the infinite sun; the first "dark room" in some gay disco somewhere near Via Diagonal. I recall we had all the time in the world in front of us in the hot summer; the promenade in Parc Güell.
It brings back memories of shorts, and cheap pizzas, and "in" restaurants, unending days and the flavour of suncream on the lips ajar; ice-cream breathing rhythm. The immense will that inhabits us every summer.
I couldn't resist writing about it. What good is to feel if we can't share?
(from Brussels, with lots of snow freezing the heart outside)"
"I'm listening right now to Promenade Concert by Carles Santos and it brought me memories of our holidays in Barcelona, centuries ago. Do you remember? I bought this record at the Miró Foundation, on top of the Mountain, Montjuïc. Georgie loves this performance-like revolutionary music; passionate, scarlet red in the lit-up night. Who would have guessed? It's not an easy piece, but it's irresistible.
It brings back memories of the Ramblas, the profusion of flowers and birds early in the morning; of the newspaper stands open until late at night. Memories also of the small pensión where we stayed. Of the suffocating heat in the bedroom. Barrio Chino, wasn't it? I recall the infinite sun; the first "dark room" in some gay disco somewhere near Via Diagonal. I recall we had all the time in the world in front of us in the hot summer; the promenade in Parc Güell.
It brings back memories of shorts, and cheap pizzas, and "in" restaurants, unending days and the flavour of suncream on the lips ajar; ice-cream breathing rhythm. The immense will that inhabits us every summer.
I couldn't resist writing about it. What good is to feel if we can't share?
(from Brussels, with lots of snow freezing the heart outside)"
Wednesday, 22 December 2010
the river lit by the city lights
Why this title? Because I heard it in a song and I liked it. I still find time to feel tears gathering around my lashes when I hear a beautiful song.
Tomorrow I'll start my Winter holidays. Almost two weeks. I need it. The past four months I felt like a moth flying in the dark. I need some light to dazzle me, no matter how burnt I get.
Work has been hard. I had to learn so much new stuff it literally made my head hurt. It's a good job but it hurts. I'm not sorry for myself, I'm just saying it the way it feels.
Denise was here yesterday from Strasbourg. She always brings a load full of laughter in her bag. I love hugging her, feeling her body under my arms. I love kissing her. Denise's skin is so soft, at times it almost feels brittle; it's the absence of any stubble I guess.
I sometimes dream of a river lit by city lights, just like in the song that I heard this morning, again and again, when driving to the office with Jarl.
Georgie is in the living room with Mona, her French teacher, banging on a drum; tam-tam! I can hear their voices while writing this post. It's soothing. The light is fading and no cars can be heard nor seen outside. Mona is singing and Georgie is listening. Mona's voice like a river. Georgie's eyes like city lights.
Tomorrow I'll start my Winter holidays. Almost two weeks. I need it. The past four months I felt like a moth flying in the dark. I need some light to dazzle me, no matter how burnt I get.
Work has been hard. I had to learn so much new stuff it literally made my head hurt. It's a good job but it hurts. I'm not sorry for myself, I'm just saying it the way it feels.
Denise was here yesterday from Strasbourg. She always brings a load full of laughter in her bag. I love hugging her, feeling her body under my arms. I love kissing her. Denise's skin is so soft, at times it almost feels brittle; it's the absence of any stubble I guess.
I sometimes dream of a river lit by city lights, just like in the song that I heard this morning, again and again, when driving to the office with Jarl.
Georgie is in the living room with Mona, her French teacher, banging on a drum; tam-tam! I can hear their voices while writing this post. It's soothing. The light is fading and no cars can be heard nor seen outside. Mona is singing and Georgie is listening. Mona's voice like a river. Georgie's eyes like city lights.
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