Poetry & Pushpins

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Poetry & Pushpins

Tag Archives: books

The Natural Sequel of an Unnatural Beginning

09 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Literature, Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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Anne Elliot is the best, books, Captain Wentworth, friendship, human nature, Jane Austen

I’ve been thinking a lot about Jane Austen’s Persuasion. Over the past few weeks, the following line from the novel slipped through my mind as I’ve walked to work, made a cup of tea, and absently stared at my balcony’s potted plants (when I should have been doing work): “[Anne Elliot] had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older: the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.” 

The line refers to the life narrative of the novel’s main character, Anne Elliot. As a young woman of nineteen, her family persuaded her to reject the marriage proposal of Captain Wentworth, because he didn’t have a large enough fortune to provide a comfortable life for her. This was the prudence that she learned in her youth. Eight years later, she and Captain Wentworth meet again. He has made his fortune as a Naval officer in the Napoleonic Wars; she has rejected another suitor and learned to regret her earlier decision. They get a second chance, and this time, Anne, tempered by experience and wisdom, finally says yes to the dashing captain. As Jane notes, this is Anne’s “natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.” Most young people learn such lessons of love and coupling the other way around.

“The natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.” What a phrase. I think about it a lot, especially after turning thirty this summer. Looking back, I hardly recognize the person I was at twenty, and like Anne, I have learned a few life lessons in a backwards fashion. I have become less serious, less quiet, less wrapped up in the folds of my inner life this past decade. I often hid from my peers behind a book—or behind the words in a beautifully constructed paragraph—yet as the decade went forward, I relied less on books and more on the company and love and supportive energy of my life’s beloveds. A mode of being that many of my peers had engaged in since their parents dropped them off at kindergarten, but something I only learned as an adult, struggling with the demands and loneliness of a graduate school program. That is my natural sequel of an unnatural beginning. 

And yet, there was a sequel, to my life and to Anne’s, one that was not dictated by social expectations or some stock human narrative. Our narratives were formed through our choices and our willingness to examine and grow from them—and honestly, I prefer it that way.

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Saying Goodbye to Terry Pratchett

18 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Literature, The Creative Life

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books, fiction, Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett, the creative process, writing

Thursday, March 12, 2015, was a sad day for me. For it was the day that Sir Terry Pratchett, creator of Discworld, satirical-humanist extraordinaire, and recreational swordsmith, died.

Before leaving us at age 66, due to a rare form of Alzheimer’s Disease, Terry treated the world to more than 70 books, for young and old alike. After hearing the news, I wept, in sadness and in joy. For in losing Terry, I lost a beloved teacher. But in the wake of his loss, I also gained a sense of gratitude for exactly how much this white-bearded, epic-hat-wearing author influenced me as a human being and as a fledgling writer.

Terry was a gateway author for my 12 year-old soul, ushering me into a world where my small town life and my late middle school self were finally mirrored back to me. Through characters like Susan Sto Helit, Mort, Jeremy Clockson, The Abbot, Death, and The Sweeper, Terry gave me the courage to be weird. It was okay that I didn’t fit in with my peers, because there in Sir Pratchett’s novels were dreamers, philosophers, over-thinkers, humanists, people well-intentioned but socially awkward. You know, human beings that acted a lot like me. Through Good Omens, he introduced me to Neil Gaiman, whose work inspires me more than any other author. And it was the energy and crystalline precision of Terry’s sentences that first made me think: “Hm, maybe I’d like to spend more of my life writing. I’d love to create sentences like that.”

There is a question all this reflection brings up:  why haven’t I spoken about him more? When I was asked to name my major creative influences in a recent interview, Terry didn’t come up in my answer. Which was odd. I’m usually a person who is self-reflective and systematic about her writing. I can tell how and why a writer has had an impact of my craft and even show you examples. But why haven’t I ever mentioned Terry? I read him with just as much gusto and frequency as any of my other favorite authors. I think my previous silence about Terry was twofold—I was intimidated by him and I’m only now realizing the depth of his impact. This filters into one thing: his plot structure. God, the way he wrote plot intimidated me. It was full of scenes that popped and whizzed through your senses, making you laugh, cry, and ponder the mysteries of humanity. It felt frenzied, but the madness always breathlessly hung together with a careful precision.

No one plots novels like Terry. And to me, that’s what makes an artist—they create something that only they can create. His plots are so beautiful and personalized to him, that I don’t know if I could ever directly use his tactics in my work. Yet, thinking of writing scenes of varying length that carefully fit together instead of writing in well-measured chapters, is getting my first novel draft on the page. Who knows if this is how I will keep it. But Terry’s  writing style encourages me to think of the piece like a clock, to write it so that my character’s worlds and desires click and whirr together, freeing me from chapter quotas and keeping me ever mindful of how the larger project may end up fitting together.

Thank you Sir Terry for your wonderful stories. You truly were a writer uniquely your own. I shall deeply miss reading your new words and I am grateful for the continued guidance of your old ones.

Friendship and Wrapping Paper

03 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Literature, Pushpins (Daily Life)

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Advent, books, C.S. Lewis, community, human nature

One of my first Christmas gifts came earlier this week. After a lively lunch, a dear friend of mine handed me a long, cardboard tube.

“I had to give you your Christmas present today,” she said. “You’ll see why when you get home.”

And I did.

Christmas Books

Rolled up inside the tube were six sheets of paper, lined with the images of colorful, gilded book bindings—lovely antique visions from the Bodleian Library’s Christmas Book Collection. My friend was right, she had to give me my Christmas present early. As a librarian with a deep partiality for exquisite, old books, how could I wrap my Christmas presents for family and friends in anything else?

I delightedly texted my friend, thanking her for her thoughtfulness. As I hit send, I reflected on just how wonderful a gift it was. Gifts can be rather singular and rather private in nature. A gift passes from you to a friend. If your friend likes it, or even if she does not, your gift will spend the rest of its existence inside your friend’s home, visible to only those your friend permits over her dwelling’s threshold. But that is not how wrapping paper works. It longs to know not just one of your friends, but all of them, as well as your family and co-workers. It wants to chat with others, rather loudly, about the nature of your friendship with the friend who gave you the paper in the first place. For each object that you wrap with the jolly print, becomes an introduction to your other friend when the receiver exclaims: “What lovely paper!” You can then reply: “Thank you, my friend Sally got it for me. She’s also a librarian. You really must meet someday, I think you two would get on well.” 

The gift under the paper may be singular, but the wrapping paper wants to be everybody’s friend and happily wishes that everybody else also wants to be friends with each other. As I hope C.S. Lewis would quip, if he had written The Four Gifts rather than The Four Loves—wrapping paper is the least jealous of the gifts, always ready to extend its cheer and warmth to all.

What a fine way to introduce the wrapping paper giver to others I admire and love. And, what a fine way to start the Christmas season.

Cleaning out the closet, I mean, the bookcases

28 Tuesday Oct 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Fashion, Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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books, cozy apartment, making mistakes, vintage fashion

I went through my bookcases last weekend. I figured it was probably time since I had to step around a fort-like structure of bindings and dust to get to my desk.

So, with reusable bag in hand I went to work…and found out that my book keeping rational was very similar to the clothes keeping rational women with overflowing closets seem to possess. Just like that pair of jeans from high school, the study of Normative Ethics will never fit me again. There was a brief time in grad school when the ideas suited me, but now they just feel uncomfortable and outdated. And do I really need that commentary on Amos? Yes, the book is big, beautiful, and impressive—but I never use it. It just sits on the shelf gathering dust, like that overly shiny halter dress you bought to go clubbing in (and face it, you will never go clubbing).

IMG_0910Cleaning out my bookcases made me realize that when I have a disposable income, I waste it on books instead of clothing. In my youth, this habit made me quietly smug. I was not one of those shallow girls preoccupied with fashion and boys. Oh no, I was much better than that because I would buy books to read…and one day, I would impress some Austenesque fellow with my intellect and profound understanding of the world.

Book after book went into my reusable bag. These weighty tomes of Western thinking might as well have been outdated dresses and blouses. Yes, I bought books to improve my intellect, but I bought books that I didn’t need, that I wouldn’t read, that I would abandon the minute they lost popularity. My sin is just as bad as your average shopaholic.

There is room on my bookcases now. Let us hope that I’ve learned my lesson. Especially since I can order any book that I wish—for free—through our university’s library system.

The Dark: Children’s Books and Adult Experience

30 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Literature, Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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books, friendship, New York, writing

For his third birthday, I bought my honorary nephew The Dark, Lemony Snicket’s newest book for children. Before the purchase, one of my dearest friends and I stood by the children’s book island in the middle of the Strand, a famous New York city bookstore. Though the city, with its ever lively pace, still moved around us as shoppers and tourists, we were suspended in the quiet, honest loveliness of the story. Huddled over the book’s crisp, yet textured, drawings of oranges, ambers, blues, and blacks.

We took turns reading each page out loud to one another. The story went something like this: Laszlo was afraid of the Dark, but that was okay because the Dark, who lived in the basement, stayed out of Laszlo’s room. But one night, when his night light burned out, the Dark visited him. This encounter taught Laszlo that: “…without the Dark, everything would be light, and you would never know if you needed a light bulb.”

By the story’s end and with our shoulders touching, my friend and I were both quietly crying.

After reading a few more children’s books to each other, we wandered around the store’s remaining floors (Three to be exact). I suppose the experience was impressive, but my senses dulled towards the towers of books that towered above us. My mind was still with Laszlo, slowly re-feeling its way through his encounter with the Dark. Yes, the book was for my nephew, but the more I thought about it, the story was also for me.

I am not a young child, afraid of the dark in my bedroom—that doesn’t mean my adult life has not had its share of darkness. These past five years have put me in places and experiences where I have seen (with much surprise and sadness) how pain, fear, anger, and loss can wind around a person, hiding them from themselves and disordering and dissembling every important relationship they have. It’s horrible to watch. It’s even more horrible to be on the receiving end of its desperate grip.

God, “…without the Dark, everything would be light, and you would never know if you needed a light bulb,” is such a powerful line for me. When the Dark visited me, its presence hurt. But, its presence also tuned my senses to quickly see and deeply experience life’s blessings and joys—proverbial light bulbs—whenever they enlightened and enlivened my messy little bundle of experience and truth.

Apparently, The Dark helps my honorary nephew fall asleep. That’s what his mother told me yesterday. This knowledge makes me smile. We all have little stories that we tell ourselves, to make us strong, to make us brave, to help us not be afraid of the dark. I’m glad The Dark is such a story for him. And, I hope its wisdom will continue to walk with him and to strengthen him for the rest of his life.

Freestyle Disco and Drinking Games: Jane Austen on YouTube

02 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Literature, Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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books, England, Jane Austen, writing

Oh my gosh you guys, after four months riddled with various high pressure deadlines, I have a break. An actual break. And nothing says taking a break from high pressure deadlines quite like silly YouTube Videos about Jane Austen and her books (well, at least for me). So, for your viewing pleasure, and my easy access, here are some of my favorites:

1.) The Peloton—The Jane Austen One

Ah, polite  Nineteenth-Century conversation:  where everyone beautifully says nothing.

 

2.) Jane Austen’s Fight Club

Because sometimes, you just have to knock a teacup out of some heiress’s hand.

 

3.) The Mitchell and Webb Look—Posh Dancing

Thank you, Mr. Darcy, for yelling at Miss Bingley what I’ve been longing to yell at her every time I read Pride and Prejudice. You are also very good at freestyle disco.

 

4.) The Jane Austen Drinking Game (Live)—Mostly Water Theatre

“LOSS OF COUNTENANCE. THAT’S TWO DRINKS!!!!”

 

5.) Pride and Prejudice: The Art of Argument According to Jane Austen | Ignite Phoenix #15

Oooo!!!! Rhetoric skillz. Mr. Darcy has those. (n.b. This video is more informative than silly—but, is informative in a very charming way.)

 

6.) Jane Austen Old Spice Parody

A video that proves once and for all Henry Tilney’s superiority to all other Austen heroes. Sadly, Mr. Darcy and Captain Wentworth are not him.

Pillows and Dragons

04 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Literature, Pushpins (Daily Life)

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books, grief

Though the sun is out and I am not yet physically tired, I am in my pajamas, under my bed’s covers. The sunbeams that sprint across my bedroom floor are excitable and bright—so different from my current mood. I roll onto my stomach, smashing my face into my pillow’s dark silence. Thankful that my bed is warm and my blankets are soft.

What a two weeks I have had.

Actually, what a year I have had.

I never thought that managing the grief surrounding my mother’s death would be so hard, so time consuming, so revealing of my internal strengths and weaknesses. Both friends and acquaintances are quick to assure me that I’ve handled this year with patience and poise—I’m glad of their assurances and relieved that those in my community have experienced my grieving process in such a manner. For me, there isn’t a choice between being gracious as I process my big emotions through writing, and being a noticeable mass of sorrow and pain as I air my emotions out in public. I’ll always choose the former, if I can help it, for the latter is hardly a constructive way for me to live life.

In those moments when I feel deep pain and loss, I need control. The librarian in me needs to define and arrange those emotions and the writer in me needs to make sense of them. Manners and writing both have rules and expectations that are easy to follow, easy to understand. It is their structure that gives me assurance that not everything has to change in the midst of emotional upheaval.

But, it’s all so exhausting—maintaining order, wrestling with chaos.

Today is not the first afternoon that I’ve sought the solace of my pillow while daylight giddily tripped across my bedroom floor. This ritual of pajamas and blankets and bed I have practiced all year. Perhaps I should be more vexed when I am facedown in my pillow on a sunny afternoon:  Yet, I cannot be. I need my pillow to remind me that yes, this year has been an emotional hell, so I’d better get some rest. I have to continue fighting the good fight when I get up again.

coloring-pages-dragons-4From: karenswhimsy.com

Any other day, I would savor the sun and its glowing warmth. I cannot take it today. I roll onto my left side, away from the sun and towards my bedroom wall. It meets my eyes with a tiny patch of paint bubbles, speckling its surface. I absently study it and think of heroes and knights craning their necks to read their destinies in the stars. Though these warriors answer to varying names like King Arthur, St. George, and Ivanhoe, we tend to tell their stories in the similar ways: The hero sets off on on a hard (but epic) mission, solves the riddles, slays the dragon / monster / enemy, saves the princess / noblewoman, marries said princess / noblewoman, and then proceeds to party hard with his bros—drinking horns and boar’s heads abounding in his castle’s great hall. And that is where the story ends. We walk with the knight through his struggles and leave him as his narrative reaches an euphoric pitch.

But what happens next?

What does the hero do when his bros are gone and his beloved is embroidering something in the solarium?

I’d like to think that he stays in bed, buries his face in his pillow, and thanks God for the momentary reprieve from life’s quests, riddles, and dragons. And in the silence, he finds the strength to get up again

 

Happy Badass Librarian Day!

14 Wednesday May 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Literature, Pushpins (Daily Life)

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books, librarians, libraries

Today is Badass Librarian Day. And since I’m a librarian, I’ve enjoyed being thanked for my badassness throughout the day. All this love got me thinking about the many ways being a librarian is, indeed, a pretty badass occupation:

1. You get to help people find shit. Like a boss. Well noted on lol my thesis.

2. Collaboration? With Artists? Patrons? Scholars? Other Librarians? We love it so hard.

3. Why yes, cardigans, piercings, tweeds, and tattoos do go together. Thank goodness the librarians of the Rhode Island Library Association helped us all to see the light with their “Librarians and Tattoos” Calendar!

No tattoos for me, though (Yet. Sometimes, I fantasize about getting strands of blue Celtic knots on the top of my right foot). But like any good Yalie, I’m rather partial to my pearl set. You know—necklace, bracelet, earrings…and nose stud.

4. We’re super into knowledge (and literacy) for all.

5. We stage creative protests. Remember this awesome campaign masterminded by the librarians of Troy, Michigan, a few years ago? Even today, watching their YouTube video gives me glee!

So, Huzzah for being a (badass) librarian!

On Bobbed Hair and Freedom

09 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Fashion, Feminism, Literature, Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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books, history, the creative process, vintage fashion, writing

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Image courtesy of: Lillian Goes Vintage

As the days begin to get warmer and we begin to anticipate spring, I get to anticipate something else, just as lively, just as youthful: bobbing my hair.

After work, I shall happily walk to my downtown salon where my stylist will greet me with a hug and a smile. It will be under her loving and creative eye that my thick, wavy locks will become straight and precisely angular. Transformed, I’ll step out into the New Haven night, my gait now adjusted to a new-found, joyous swagger.

I used to have long hair as a teenager. Like really, really, long hair. All the way down to my waist. It took forever to wash and dry every morning because it was so thick—I’d spend at least an hour on its upkeep everyday. And, in order to tame its long, wild waviness, I spent a lot of my allowance and summer job money on hair products and blow dryers.

But, when I bobbed my hair in my early twenties, something wonderful happened: My hair regiment became both luxurious and speedy.

Now, I could justify buying expensive hair products. A twenty dollar bottle of shampoo would last me months rather than weeks. And, if I’d let my bob air-dry with a little bit of leave-in conditioner, I could fill up my mornings with new activities. That hour I used to spend washing and drying my hair I currently spend on doing household chores and writing. Both activities are much more sanity-inducing and soul-nurturing than standing in front of a mirror, blasting my head with hot air, ever was.

Transformed, I’ll step out into the New Haven night, my gait now adjusted to a new-found, joyous swagger.

 

I must confess that wearing my hair in a bob makes me feel like a rebel. Though, given this haircut’s legacy, I think that I have every right to feel a bit daring when there is more of my hair on the salon floor than on my head. Did you know that in the 1920s bobbed hair was met with raised eyebrows and shock? Young women who undertook the cut were considered unladylike upstarts by America’s then older generations. Simply by shedding those extra layers of tresses, young women began to give themselves permission to take new, individual risks in their daily lives. Risks that worried the conformist, virtuous group-think of those who came of age in the mid to late Nineteenth Century.

My favorite contemporary example of this courageous personal daring occurs in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s short story, “Bernice Bobs Her Hair.” Bernice, a pretty, but timid and dull Midwestern girl, visits her lively East Coast cousin, Marjorie. To help her overcome her dullness (and give herself something to do), Marjorie teaches Bernice how to flirt with rich, Ivy League boys, an action that costs Marjorie her own popularity. To regain her status as alpha female, Marjorie then emotionally blackmails Bernice into getting her hair bobbed—right before the young women attend a ball at the home of a staunch anti-bob society family! So, what does timid, dull Bernice do in return? Not what you’d expect. Her short hair gives her the freedom and the courage to enact revenge on her catty cousin in a rather fitting way: Marjorie also gets her hair bobbed before the ball…but, the cut happens with a pair of household shears and while she is asleep.

I think about Bernice a lot as as I rush around my house in the morning, barely keeping to schedule, but always deeply grateful for those few extra moments of writing time, or chore time, the a.m. hours continue to grant me. I think the older generations of the early Twentieth Century were right to fear the bob. It did (and does) give a rather particular freedom to women. The freedom to pursue personal development rather than a generic, societal beauty role. Though Amanda Palmer said it (or something very similar to it) about the maintenance of female body hair (or perhaps it was one of her fans who said it and she took up its mantle), I think it also applies to the bob: “The less time I spend on hair care, the more time I have for the Revolution.”

I couldn’t agree more. Even if my “Revolution” is an open space for morning writing and chores, my bobbed hair and I definitely have more time for it.

A Very Fan-Girly and Self-Centered Review of These! Paper! Bullets!

26 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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books, England, Midwest, New Haven, the creative process, writing

Last Friday night, I got to once more experience my major high school obsessions—the Beatles and William Shakespeare—smashed together in one glorious rock musical. Because last Friday night, I went to see These! Paper! Bullets!, the Yale Repertory Theatre’s “modish ripoff” of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing.

Sitting in the balcony of Yale University Theater, I felt like I was on the set of A Hard Day’s Night as the Quartros (Ben, Claude, Pedro, and Barth) played their opening song amidst a maelstrom of screaming female voices. Then the music stopped and the dialogue began, sweeping the audience into a wonderful blend of iambic pentameter and Liverpudlian slang. My body shivered in blissful delight as the players delivered the original Shakespearean dialogue with a Liverpudlian lilt, adorning their sentences with words like “gear” and “grotty.”

Hearing the mixing and matching of meters and slang, old and new, reminded me why I succumbed to the siren’s call of Shakespeare and the Beatles as a teen. It was because of their speech patterns. The Beatles and Shakespeare were the first to teach me, a Northeastern Ohio girl, that language could dance. Both Liverpudlian and Elizabethan speech cadences have a light, sing-songy musicality to them. It’s hard to speak in light, sing-songy ways with a Northeastern Ohio accent. Our “r’s” are hard and our “a’s,” nasal. When we speak, we mostly chew our words then spit them out. But thanks to Will and the Fab Four, I got exposed to two new patterns of speaking, very different from what I grew up using. Two different patterns of speaking that helped to expand my imagination as a writer.

If you’re in the New Haven area, I urge you to go see These! Paper! Bullets!. The show is charming, madcap, and so much fun. I dare you to count all of the cheeky Beatle song / Shakespearean references and puns…the show overflows with them!

For a less fan-girly review of the show, I’d like to direct you to an excellent one done by Eva Geertz for the New Haven Review: http://www.newhavenreview.com/index.php/2014/03/a-review-of-these-paper-bullets-by-a-very-reluctant-theater-goer/

And, if you’d like to get a sense of the show’s overall aesthetic, here is a video celebrating the show’s world premiere, courtesy of the Yale Repertory Theatre YouTube channel:

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