Eliot Letter.4: On Women

Grrr...

[From a letter to Ezra Pound, hurriedly written] "Thursday--I thought too many women--it lowers the tone: ...perhaps there should be a special evening for males only, as well as this. Eeldrop on the feminisation of modern society." 9/1917

[From a letter to his mother] "I struggle to keep the writing as much as possible in Male hands, as I distrust the Feminine in literature, and also, once a woman has had anything printed in your paper, it is very difficult to make her see why you should not print everything she sends in." 10/1917

(For the record, I think "Eeldrop and Appleplex" must be the Eeldrop to which Eliot refers.)

New Year's

I'm not big on New Year's Resolutions (and by not big, I mean I don't really make them). But this is great!

(Although I'm not sure why you would stay away from gas station slushies [are there any other kind?]. But "make more money" sounds really appealing, and perhaps even less likely for me this year than in past years. Some of the ones listed are bizarrely vague; others are just not the kind of thing that you can resolve to do and then do.)


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A Fairy Tale House

Stearns and I went to visit Gypsy and her husband and her baby tonight. They live on the third floor of a giant mansion. On the second floor live Gypsy's mother and father. On the first floor lives Gypsy's grandmother. On our way to visit Gypsy, we visited with all of the people on the other floors. As Stearns said when we were leaving, we need to write a children's book about their house. I think in the children's book version there would be about 18 floors and 18 generations.





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Guest Blog: Ilana: Our Delightful Governor

"We've become a nation of wusses. The Chinese are kicking our butt in everything. If this was in China do you think the Chinese would have called off the game? People would have been marching down to the stadium, they would have walked and they would have been doing calculus on the way down."

--Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell on the cancellation of the Eagles game due to the snowstorm

Dissertation.5

Brilliant quotations from the (incredibly depressing) article: "The disposable academic: Why doing a PhD is often a waste of time":

"In America only 57% of doctoral students will have a PhD ten years after their first date of enrolment. In the humanities, where most students pay for their own PhDs, the figure is 49%. Worse still, whereas in other subject areas students tend to jump ship in the early years, in the humanities they cling like limpets before eventually falling off." (A limpet is something like a snail!)

"Monica Harris, a professor of psychology at the University of Kentucky, is a rare exception. She believes that too many PhDs are being produced, and has stopped admitting them. But such unilateral academic birth control is rare."

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve is quite possibly my favorite night of the year--my mother's family gathers together for Christmas carols and gifts and sweets. It contains the best possible mix of family and traditions and new things.

This year there were lots of changes--my uncle made the ice cream instead of my grandfather, but he used my grandfather's recipe, so it was okay. My father also read the Christmas story instead of my grandfather, but my grandfather read a reflection on family, so it was okay. After my grandfather read his reflection on family, the children clapped; they clapped in just the same way that we (the adults) clapped for them after their performances on the flute and piano. When my grandfather reads and prays, it is wonderful--it is one of the few times we hear his voice because he is soft-spoken to begin with, but he also is now very hard of hearing and so rarely enters into conversation.

After the children performed on the flute and piano, one of the youngest, Peter, seemed as if he also wanted to perform. So they set him up at the keyboard bench, made the keyboard play an automatic song (Deck the Halls, I think), and then cheered him on, till he was convinced that he was playing the song himself.

During the Christmas story, the children act it out. This year, baby Jesus was a little girl, since that was the youngest family member. Since she is very clingy, Jesus was a crying baby girl. Not only that, but there was a crying shepherd, since her brother isn't much older than she is. Sarah also amused us all by trying to eat the wrapping paper on her presents (she's teething). When Grandma opened her presents, the kids gathered around and egged Grandma on until she tore the wrapping paper (Grandma is well known for her frugality, which extends to her carefully opening presents, and folding up the wrapping paper to re-use next year).

Some things remained the same as other years: there were, as always, Grandma's cornflake cookies, which are dyed green and made into little wreaths of holly with red cinnamon candies as the berries. I always get to eat as many as I like, since no one likes them, but I think I was competing with Ethan this year. And there were the candlelight Christmas carols, as always. I'm slightly scared of fire, so a dozen little children with candles in the living room is disconcerting.

And one anecdote from Christmas: I offered to make the gravy this year. This was a long process, since it turned out to be me, my grandmother and my mother making the gravy together (youth isn't trusted too much in our family). At one point my mother said, "I've never been good at making gravy." My grandmother added: "I never have been either." I, of course finished: "I am very good at making gravy!" Really, who cares if it's lumpy or not? I just add straight flower to the meat drippings. But, with the efforts of all three of us, we had the most smooth, lump-less gravy ever.

Dissertation.4

"A dissertation! It's the water-boarding of academe--you aren't technically drowning but it sure feels like you are!"

--The Eternal Student

Eliot Letter.3

From a 1915 letter from Ezra Pound to T.S. Eliot's father, on why Eliot should stay in London:

"As to T.S.E.'s work, I think it the most interesting stuff that has appeared since my own first books, five years ago. Of the conceit of artists there is of course no end, but this letter is between ourselves and I see no reason to beat about the bush."

Merry Christmas!

Dear Blog,

I want to wish you a merry Christmas! I wish you a wonderful year filled with joy and love and beauty!

Love,
Emily


(Above is the legendary one remaining glass nativity.)

Goodness Gracious!

The night that I returned to my beloved hometown, I noticed a flickering orange light in the distance (like an orange thunderstorm) after my dad's basketball game (he's a coach). I asked my family what it was. "Mordor," they replied. Now, I am not up on The Lord of the Rings (I am the lone member of my family to be out of the loop on this one), but even I know that that is the bad place.

Know what it is? They are burning the natural gas that escapes from the natural gas wells (now this is all hear-say, but evidently they do this for a while just after they drill the well and before they can cap it off). When I see something like this, I feel as if all of my suspicions were legitimized. Alas, I didn't have a camera with me, or else I would have captured it for you, dear readers.

Congrats to Parker and Mr. Parker on their new daughter! (She has gorgeous big eyes with long eyelashes, but it's hard to capture on camera, since her eyes were mostly closed.)

Guestblog: #1Tomatolover: You're the Best.

Quotation

Myrna's boyfriend, who cabbed over to take care of the mouse, to Myrna: "Did you see the mouse?"
Myrna: "No, Hopkins did. I heard it."
M's B: "The mouse??"
Myrna: "No, Hopkins."

Christmas Visiting.2

Days with Ilana and Stearns are delightful: today we did lots of touristy DC activities--we started the afternoon at the National Gallery of Art, where Ilana put her new college-level art history skills to work, and where we all enjoyed a Christmas choir that included audience participation in Christmas carols--how very democratic!



After that, we headed over to the botanical gardens, which we heard from Hopkins were nice in at Christmastime. Indeed, the botanical gardens featured replicas of many of the monuments and museums around the mall, only made out of organic materials like acorn tops and leaves.





I was most intrigued by the patterns on the leaves throughout the botanical gardens, as you might be able to tell.







We finished the afternoon by climbing the Old Post Office Tour, which, since it's in the center of things, offers one of the best views of the city. We didn't actually climb the tower--we road elevators to the top. For some reason, the Old Post Office Tower has bells, too, which are change-rung. The Old Post Office Tower, as far as I can tell, has nothing inside but a food court. Which, luckily, sold Ben and Jerry's ice cream, since Ilana had been looking for one so that she could use (share!) an old gift card.





Walking around in the freezing cold left us exhausted! So I couldn't convince them to go ice skating at the end of the day. Instead, we played boggle, and Ilana soundly won.

Quotations: Ilana (and Stearns)

"He has a rhinoceros head." (Ilana about a cute Jeopardy player)

"Are they supposed to not be able to act?" (Ilana on a television show we were watching)

"Can't you have one of those communal visits?" (Ilana, meaning conjugal--interestingly, this was referring to Avon Barksdale)

"Look at those geese! They look like penguins!" (Stearns on some regular old Canadian Geese)

Eliot Letters.2

(From a letter to Conrad Aiken, December 31, 1914)

"...I think one's letters ought to be about oneself (I live up to this theory!)--what else is there to talk about? Letters should be indiscretions--otherwise they are simply official bulletins."




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Christmas Visiting

Ilana, "the angel child," as my friend from Rwanda always calls Ilana, is visiting Little Gidding on her way home from college, which is of course a great treat for us. Today's snow interrupted our sightseeing plans (I really do love have visitors because I love showing them things, really whether or not they're actually interested in seeing them--it's an excuse for me to get out and about in my city). Instead, we headed to Northside Social, the new Murky Coffee, to work/read. Ilana is reading The Fabric of the Cosmos, which Stearns recommended to her.


Northside Social is nice and not changed too much, although I think it's a tad more expensive/elitist than it was before (if that's even possible). As in, instead of randomly collected furniture that was shabby/chic, there are now matching distressed white chairs (the paint "spills" were obviously stuck on on purpose). Before it seemed to be loaded with hippies who worked from home. Now it seems to be people on their lunch breaks. But maybe I'm making this up. Or maybe the snow changes everything.

What I Want for Christmas.3

Best. Gift Guide. Ever. Hopkins is the sweetest!

(The poster with its rant followed by, "I will go for a walk and calm down" ending is awesome.)

Eliot Letters.1

[To Conrad Aiken]

Saturday 21 November [1914]
Junior Common Room
Merton College, Oxford

Dear Conrad,

Will you do me a great favour? I enclose a money order for four dollars. Will you go to Galvin, or to Howard in Cambridge, and order some red or pink roses, Killarney I suppose. I understand that Emily is to act in the Cambridge Dramatic play which will be early in December--I suppose the 5th or the 12th; you will have to find out which date, if you can. I enclose a card; please put it in a small envelope and address it to her simply Miss Hale, "Brattle Hall", and have the roses for the Saturday night performance.The name of the play is Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh. If you can't find out when the play comes off, or if you can't find out without conspicuous inquiry, or if, as is quite possible, this reaches you too late, simply hold the money and send the flowers at Christmas. ...

[This letter is written while Eliot is in England, and Emily Hale and Conrad Aiken are in Cambridge, MA/Boston.]

Guestblog: Whigwham on Inception

Inception just came out on DVD, and I thoroughly enjoyed a second viewing. What struck me after both viewings was the fact that, while the movie ultimately has an uplifting ending, there is something disturbing about this film which sticks with you after you watch it. It's almost like, well, the way a particularly vivid dream might stick with you hours after you wake up.

Why is it that dreams (and, thus, movies about dreams) have this disturbing effect? Perhaps it's because dreams arise from a part of ourselves which is powerful, yet also somehow alien to us. We've all had those dreams which, upon waking, leave us wondering, where in the world did that come from? And we've all done or witnessed the most strange and bizarre things in our dreams. So the disturbing nature of many of our dreams arises from the fact that this wild, incomprehensible world comes not from without, but from within. From the very core of our minds. Our dreams aren't "real", but they reflect processes in our minds which are quite real--and this itself can induce fascination, or sometimes, dread.

And I think it's this distinction--between the real and the unreal--which is at the heart of why Inception is both compelling and disturbing. The final message of the film is a powerful one. Even if the real is not what we want, even if the real is painful and causes suffering, it is finally preferable to illusion. This is ultimately an affirmation of the ancient truth that reality, as such, is good. As Aquinas put it, being is convertible with good. Just because something is real, it is good. Even if it is imperfect and causes much suffering. The terror which Inception so deftly portrays arises from the prospect of losing the ability to distinguish the real from the illusory, the real world from the dream world. In the dream world, we can construct a "reality" according to our whims and desires. But it is ultimately terrifying because it is ultimately an illusion.

This simple truth portrayed in this compelling film is particularly apt to our time. And not just as a healthy antidote to the very real inclination to construct and live in fantasy worlds (virtual reality, Second Life, World of Warcraft, or even Facebook). Perhaps one way of broadly construing our contemporary American predicament is that we are losing our ability to distinguish the real from the illusory. This plays itself out in many arenas. Our failure to distinguish between the true nature of marriage and its family-destroying opposites. Or our failure to distinguish the truth about economic relationships from their corporate, advertising-induced corruptions. Or our failure to distinguish between true national defense and imperial domination. Perhaps the problem is not the losing of a "culture war" in which traditional conceptions of reality are displaced by alternative ones. Perhaps the truth--and the terror--of our predicament is that we are by and large losing our ability to even distinguish between the real and the illusory. And, thus, we are losing our ability to wake up.

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Charlottesville

Unfortunately, I didn't take any pictures of the lovely university nor of the charming downtown, which was comprised of loads of brick buildings covered with fading advertisements--my favorite!

My camera was otherwise occupied--little E, the daughter of some old friends of mine, loved taking pictures of herself: she mostly pushed the lens of the camera into her eye as hard as she could and said cheese. Then she turned the camera around, saw a picture of her, and said, "Me! Me!"

I convinced her to hold the camera back a little bit and we got a couple of self-portraits.


She calls kisses, "mops" ("mops" is the sound she makes instead of the smacking sound of a kiss).

She's so adorable and enthusiastic and convincing that she can make a room full of adults play ring-around-the-rosie with her.

And her little months-old sister breaks into smiles just about anytime you look at her.

At Tea with a Colleague

Emily: "What time is the department holiday party?"
RS: "It's at 4 p.m."
Emily: "How did you find that out? Is it in the email invitation?"
RS: "It's there, but it's typed in white, so you have to highlight the whole invitation to see it."

For crying out loud! You have to get a special decoder ring comprehend these departmental emails.

Like Water for Chocolate

I've been casting around all week for a book that would hold my attention; finally, in a thrift store near the National Cathedral, I found this book.

It sent me back to college and our World Lit class--I think that I was a junior or senior when I took the class and I arranged to take it with most of my best friends. We had to do presentations for the class on books that the class didn't read, and one of my friends presented on this book. Incidentally, the teacher of that class was the blondest teacher I've ever had--she was a spousal hire, and it made me wonder about those.

This book is really wonderful--it's full of magical realism, a style I'm growing to love. It's broken down into chapters according to months, with each chapter framed by a recipe that that chapter describes, in addition to an associated narrative. It's full of sexuality and grief and loads of weirdness--when the main character cooks, her emotions go into the food and affect all of the people who eat it; people also routinely come back from the dead to talk with other characters throughout the novel--just because a character dies doesn't mean he's gone from the story!

The novel explores women's connection to cooking and to bearing and feeding children. Women in the novel are also connected closely to tradition. We see both good and bad traditions in the novel: Tita, the main character, learns to cook excellent family recipes, a skill that could only be learned from a teacher and not from a recipe. Tita, however, is excruciatingly harmed by her family's tradition of having the youngest daughter remain single to care for her mother. Tita questions this tradition and finally encourages her niece to break it.

In conclusion, I must note that reading this book required me to temporarily lift my moratorium on books in which sisters are involved with the same man.

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Brooches.2

Oh my goodness! Brooches on presents!! I love it. I mean, I personally couldn't bear to part with even a brooch that I didn't like, but I think it's a great idea for other people.

(via Design Sponge and Hopkins)

Fabulous Things I Heard on the Radio.14

"When I was the mayor of Vermont..." --Senator Bernard Sanders' long speech/filibuster protesting Obama's tax cut deal.

Are Women Human?

"It is perfectly idiotic to take away women's traditional occupations and then complain because she looks for new ones. Every woman is a human being--one cannot repeat that too often--and a human being must have occupation, if he or she is not to become a nuisance to the world." --Dorothy Sayers, "Are Women Human?" from Unpopular Opinions.

(Incidentally, I realized lately that my purchase of a first edition of this book from a little used bookstore in Oxford for 9 pounds was a clever purchase.)



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The National Cathedral

Today I had a bit of time between engagements and so I popped up to the National Cathedral for a minute.


Beautiful architecture and taking pictures are two of my favorite things.



Plus, I stumbled on a little thrift store and bought a book and a brooch (my other favorite things).



I took pictures until I couldn't feel my fingers and then ran back to my car.


The slightly gray clouds reminded my of some fashion photographer who claimed that sunshine is boring and gray skies are much better because they're dramatic. I normally hate cloudy days, but this day had just the right amount of gray in the clouds.

What I Want for Christmas.2

I am amused that this is something of a reversal of Hopkins' gift guide posts--it's a sort of wish list of things I'd like, since buying gifts for other people always makes me think of what I want.

T.S. Eliot's letters: The first volume (which I have) covered his birth (1898) to 1922 and was published in 1988. I'm just beginning to read it now (and it's a massive tome). It's delightful--showing off TSE's light side, and there are even sketches in the letters (my favorite!). Here's an excerpt for your enjoyment, written when he was staying in Germany for a summer:

"The country about is really quite charming, hilly and wooded, with nice walks, not too wild; a woody farming country, such as I like--I don't care for 'sublime' scenery, do you? Only one cannot walk far, or one would miss a meal;--for we have five a day. One is either just recovering from a meal or just preparing for one. As I was going out to swim the other day the Frau Superintendent suggested that I had better eat some bread and sausage to fortify myself."


The second volume (which was evidently ready for publication when the first volume was published) was curiously not published until 2009, nineteen years after the first volume. It covers 1923 to 1925. Goodness gracious--just imagine how many letters there are left to edit! (Eliot died in 1965.) For whatever crazy reason, you can't find the second volume for cheaper than $45 dollars online. PLUS, Valerie Eliot (TSE's second wife and literary executor) published a revised edition of the first volume of letters.




It seems that Mrs. Eliot is just very particular about her work, but goodness, it's proceeding slowly! I mean, we owe to her the fact that any of these collections exist (Eliot himself wanted to burn his letters, but she convinced him to let them be published; it was his condition that she be the one to edit them). On the other hand, I'm still mad at Eliot for jilting Emily Hale. Plus, Mrs. Eliot was doing some hardcore stalking in order to get TSE--she even moved closer to him and joined his church.

What I Want for Christmas

My aunt in West Virginia has at least three secretaries scattered throughout her house (there might've been more that I didn't notice). Boy, I would like just one for my little room. I loved them even when I was little at my great-grandmother's house and in my grandmother's attic. And the secret drawers!



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A New Low

Delilah just popped on the radio, and her voice is sort of soothing me. Grrr.

Restaurant Review: Oohh's and Aahh's

Oohh's and Aahh's Soul Food Restaurant was recommended by a friend, and I'm so glad it was, because it isn't a place I would have stumbled across on my own (it's in a tiny little row house near the U Street metro). People were incredibly friendly--the cooks chatted with you while they cooked. A man outside asked me first for a cigarette and then for a kiss (actually, I'm not sure that that counts as friendly). While I waited for everyone else in my party to arrive (one of my friends' nap ran over), I sat beside a kind customer who told me all about his time writing term papers for students. I had just read this article and so it was a topic that was very much on my mind. This man said in order to write a believable paper, he would get a writing sample from the student and then copy the errors that that student would have made! He then offered me a job, but I was confused--I thought he was asking me to write term papers, but in retrospect I think he was asking me to work for the company that he's now president of. I responded as if he'd asked me to write the term papers. Oops.

The blackened catfish was remarkably good--we decided it was cooked with something like Cajun spices (we ordered and shared the catfish, a crab cake and some lemon pepper chicken wings). The meals come with a variety of sides--the macaroni and cheese was really good, and of course, I'm crazy about cabbage. This cabbage was, I think, boiled or steamed or something. I need that recipe. The cornbread was delicious! The portions are enormous, and if you share your food properly, it's quite cheap. The food is served in a styrofoam box, wrapped in aluminum foil, with a plastic fork. The clientele was a funny mix of regulars who you knew lived nearby and ate there often, and people who'd read about the place in a magazine and showed up (I fit more neatly in this latter category--the first question I was asked when I walked in was whether I worked on The Hill or for a non-profit).

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West Virginia

This weekend, Stearns and I drove to West Virginia to see our little cousin get confirmed. It was a mini family gathering. One of the great parts of the weekend was seeing the whole family enjoy my uncle's vintage pinball machine. Evidently, my father's addiction is hereditary: even my grandmother wouldn't really share with anyone else once she got going.

Brandon Park

At the entrance to Brandon Park in Williamsport stands this carving. When I was little it was carved. I remember being so excited--everyone was talking about it--a famous artist was commissioned to carve an American Indian out of one whole enormous tree. It was one of a handful commissioned for parks around the United States. I think I remember seeing the progress as it was happening. When it was finished, I was very disappointed: in my head, I had imagined that the whole body of an American Indian would be carved, and seeing that it was just the head somehow seemed less cool.

My Dear Students

During their in-class presentations, one of my students must have had a cold, or was suffering as a result of the cold weather. Twice his nose dripped onto his paper during the presentation. At the end of the class, he handed the paper in to me.

Another student was wearing a blazer with leggings (I had asked them to dress up).

Oh, the BCSC

JS: "...Um, anyway... boy, what a nice haircut, Emily!"
me: "Are you just changing the subject or did you notice that I did just get a haircut? [my first one in about a year]"
JS: "Oh, I was just changing the subject. I should have gone with that, huh?"

The Harsh Winds of Life (By #1Tomatolover)

When the harsh winds of life blow, just roll with it.

Anne

I am Anne of Green Gables:


From Anne of Avonlea: "She was an excellent target for teasing because she always took things so seriously."


Miss Lavendar on a broken heart: "But, Anne, a broken heart in real life isn't half as dreadful as it is in books. It's a good deal like a bad tooth--though you won't think that a very romantic simile. It takes spells of aching and gives you a sleepless night now and then, but between times it lets you enjoy life and dreams and echoes and peanut candy as if there were nothing the matter with it."



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Brooches.1

Hahaha: If I wore this people would tell me no, never again (I'm referring to the time that I wore a pink blazer with a lavender shirt and white pants to the symphony and thought I looked great only to come home to a very distressed roommate--now I make sure and get all new outfits approved prior to wearing).

Also: I love the brooch she's wearing near her hem! I love all new ways to wear brooches!

In Praise of Forgetfulness

My memory is terrible. I've often thought that I need ginkgo to help me remember things. Honestly, I've contemplated grinding up the leaves and eating them (there are loads of ginkgo trees in Georgetown on one street [I think it's 34th] and they look lovely in the fall when they turn bright yellow). But I also think that forgetfulness is pretty important: I imagine that when God sent Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden, he gave them a little forgetfulness as a gift.

Hannah Arendt writes about the supremely human capacity to forgive, but I think that she slightly overstates things: as Alexander Pope tells us, to forgive is divine. I have a feeling that human beings can do a little bit of forgiving, and that forgetting helps them along with that process.

We forget pain (this is why people have more than one child, I think), and we even forget some good things that are gone (it makes us miss them less).


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Georgetown.2