Ascending Peculiarity
Hello, all, on a lovely Sunday afternoon in not-very-northern Europe,
Having vigorously (I thought brutally, but it was done in a benevolent way, just to have more light) removed a LOT of ivy (in Dutch, it's called "climb up", and it had, too much, everywhere, in my tiny back garden), I'm taking a little break.
My bath has a bookcase, as does every room in this house (some are at extraordinary altitudes, and visitors are invited to guess why some shelves are placed as they are [FAR out of the reach of anyone]). The room now used as my bedroom has bookcases attached to two of the walls, all the way to the ceiling. Since these little houses are shaped like chalets (A-shaped), the ceilings upstairs are pitched VERY high. The bath's bookcase (portable) is the one furnishing that came with the house, but it's handy to have a big bookcase in the bath. I doubt that I'm alone in being a big bath reader.
Anyway, I've filled the bookcase with all of the books that I really do intend to read, so that I actually will read them. The list of titles is intoxicating. I did read several during the school year, but have many to go. I've also placed in this bookcase things that I love to read over and over. Edward Gorey's tiny maudlin books fall into this group. Some titles that may spring to mind are:
The Gashlycrumb Tinies ("N is for Neville, who died of ennui", being my favorite)
Amphigorey
The Curious Sofa
The Iron Tonic: The Bracingly Bleak Tale
The Unstrung Harp
The Doubtful Guest (quite famous)
The Epiplectic Bicycle
The Haunted Tea-Cosy
Mr. Gorey lived in Manhattan (during the season of the "City" Ballet; otherwise, he worked on Cape Cod), was fond of cats and bought season subscriptions to the New York City Ballet, possibly from its inception. He sat very near the front row and always wore a full-length mink coat and high-top sneakers. He designed a lovely series of advertising posters for the ballet, black background with only a pair of feet in toe shoes, in five boxes, with each pair of feet (one to a box) in a different position (there are five positions in ballet). Rereading the bit on his NY City ballet fascination, it turns out that it was his fascination with the "City Ballet's" repertory of ballets by George Balanchine, and not for other reasons. And he went to EVERY performance. He was a cult figure and enjoying his tiny books was a secret sort of passion of mine, for years. Oddly, few people seem to know his books. Who could resist such writing:
"O is for Olive run through with an awl"
"P is for Prue trampled flat in a brawl"
So, to get to the point (I hear great sighs of relief), "Ascending Peculiarity" is a sort of biography or autobiography of Edward Gorey. On how he came on his curious characters,
"I just kind of conjured them up out of my subconscious and put them in order of ascending peculiarity." For decades, I refused to believe that he was American, being certain that no one so eccentric and wildly funny could be other than British. But American he was, born in Chicago (died in 2000).
Dassit. I love ballet, too, but as close as I ever came to Mr. Gorey's record was subscribing to the San Francisco ballet, in the heyday of its best ballerina, Evelyn Cisneros. My San Francisco best friend, Geri Jeter, twisted my arm into volunteering for Nutcracker duty, which meant that I watched over a group of mice, or tin soldiers, or whoever needed minding backstage before being called up for their bit in the Nutcracker. It was really fun. Years ago, in Cambridge (USA), I even took adult ballet lessons, which is great for one's posture, strength and grace, even if one is hopelessly inept, as I was. I adored it.
It's nearly 6pm. I'm going to get "Wieckse Witte", a delicious light (not "lite") Dutch beer that's served with a slice of lemon. It's a perfect summer beer. And some old cheese (Dutch Gouda cheese is sold in various ages: young (no taste at all; rubbery), young "belegen" (young and slightly aged; not worth the money), "belegen" (slightly aged and what I usually buy), and old (the best, if not too dry and too hard to slice), on a sesame Wasa cracker, settle into the sofa and read Mr. Gorey's stuff.
I'd have given anything to see Nureyev dance with Fonteyn. I did once see Nureyev dance, in Boston, toward the end of his career. His leaps weren't as high or as long, but they were still perfect and better than anyone else's. I wish there weren't eras of greatness in dancing (that it was always wonderful), as there are in life and all art. There certainly are in music, but that's another few blogs (or not). And theater, and fashion. I'm glad that I got to see and hear the some of best.
Cheers,
Pamela
posted by Pamela @ 7:48 AM
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