Loving Without Tears
Molly Keane [1904-1996] was born in Co. Kildare, Ireland and, according to the Virago Modern Classics author biography, "began writing only as a means of supplementing her dress allowance," choosing the pseudonym M.J. Farrell as she would confess later, "to hide my literary side from my sporting friends." She published ten novels between 1928 and 1952, then resumed writing under her own name in 1981 with Good Behaviour, and subsequently three more novels, and a cookery book.
Titles for the chapters of my life: Devoted Ladies, Treasure Hunt, Loving Without Tears, Taking Chances, The Rising Tide, Mad Puppetstown, Full House, Conversation Piece, Good Behaviour, Queen Lear, Young Entry, Time After Time, Two Days in Aragon
More book sorting of my favorites [see previous entry]. Until recently, you see, I had imagined one day bequeathing my entire library to some adoring heir who shared my diverse and esoteric and arcane (okay fine, read: Gay) taste. Now as I contemplate these loved and worn Viragos, these battered and cherished Penguins, I only hope they don't all end up on shelves at the Salvation Army (consigned by my family with a phone call), doomed to languish next to torn and dog-eared copies of Tuesdays with Morrie and Left Behind: Armageddon. Books talk to each other at night, you know, so what an ignoble end that would be.
Therefore, please, when the time comes and you happen by the crime scene, as you step around my chalk outline and before you start digging through my drawers and jacket pockets for loose change, tell that guy from GoodWill or OutOfTheCloset to hold on a sec, draw that nice young officer on the case to one side, use that come hither look of yours, and make him an offer he can't refuse. Say, a bonfire at the beach at dusk, a bottle of bubbly and a little magic. Who doesn't love a good book burning, right? You just need a little fuel.
You're welcome.
And yes, on a Saturday morning I take pictures of my books. Yes, I was a strange child. With my new camera, gift of the beloved Bianca. And clouds. Today is Cloud Appreciation Day.
Dawn, Saturday, 1 November 2008. The view from here.
Titles for the chapters of my life: Devoted Ladies, Treasure Hunt, Loving Without Tears, Taking Chances, The Rising Tide, Mad Puppetstown, Full House, Conversation Piece, Good Behaviour, Queen Lear, Young Entry, Time After Time, Two Days in Aragon
More book sorting of my favorites [see previous entry]. Until recently, you see, I had imagined one day bequeathing my entire library to some adoring heir who shared my diverse and esoteric and arcane (okay fine, read: Gay) taste. Now as I contemplate these loved and worn Viragos, these battered and cherished Penguins, I only hope they don't all end up on shelves at the Salvation Army (consigned by my family with a phone call), doomed to languish next to torn and dog-eared copies of Tuesdays with Morrie and Left Behind: Armageddon. Books talk to each other at night, you know, so what an ignoble end that would be.
Therefore, please, when the time comes and you happen by the crime scene, as you step around my chalk outline and before you start digging through my drawers and jacket pockets for loose change, tell that guy from GoodWill or OutOfTheCloset to hold on a sec, draw that nice young officer on the case to one side, use that come hither look of yours, and make him an offer he can't refuse. Say, a bonfire at the beach at dusk, a bottle of bubbly and a little magic. Who doesn't love a good book burning, right? You just need a little fuel.
You're welcome.
And yes, on a Saturday morning I take pictures of my books. Yes, I was a strange child. With my new camera, gift of the beloved Bianca. And clouds. Today is Cloud Appreciation Day.
Dawn, Saturday, 1 November 2008. The view from here.
what a lovely piece to get out of bed to.
and yes, the light was lovely this morning...golden and silver...reminds me of a yeats poem...
i love the idea of books talking.
new years eve, indeed.
xxx
I sincerely hope you're not considering getting rid of those Molly Keane masterpieces. If you are, check with me before you head to the Salvation Army.
I'm drooling. I must have a diverse and esoteric and arcane taste myself. (And on what dramatic fabric you've laid those books!)
I have notes attached to my (few) noteworthy books, just to make sure they aren't tossed in the dumpster when I'm gone. I think it's smart. When you find yourself sticking a Post-It on a toothbrush saying it's been very lightly used, though, you've probably spent too much time alone.