Butterfly and books

If you've been missing me, I've been busy, holidaying and reading and generally trying to catch up. I'll try to get some of my holiday down shortly, but first a word or two about Tainted Tree, and thanks very much to Sharon Bidwell, who you'll find on Facebook and whose books are at Amazon, for her review of TT, which she's very kindly included on Amazon and which I've set out here:

I’m happy to say I took Jacquelynn Luben’s ‘Tainted Tree’ on holiday with me. Initially, I thought I was in for a slow read, but that’s only because it’s a very different book to the type I’ve been reading lately. In reality, this book moves at a gentle, steady pace, perfectly in keeping with the story. A bequest leads American adoptee, Addie Russell, to Surrey in the UK where she will uncover facts about her past that are both painful and bittersweet. The exploration of both her family's history and self-discovery are a slowly unfolding journey of revelations that the reader takes almost as a ghost hovering on Addie’s shoulders. Nothing is rushed; nothing is uncovered out of a logical, practical and perfectly paced sequence. I found the story refreshing, and although capable of making the reader tearful at times, well-balanced and realistic. The writer has said that every word in this book was necessary, and I quickly realised what she meant. I became as engrossed as Addie in the search for her past. A good and well above average summer read.

Thank you very much, Sharon. Much appreciated.

In the meantime, we at Goldenford have published A Brief History of the Whole World - an adapted version of the book written by George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury four hundred years ago. The launch took place recently at the historic Abbot's Hospital in Guildford, and the book is now officially available for anyone who wants to see how the world was viewed four centuries ago. It's been adapted and edited by the Master of the Abbot's Hospital.

I have three books that I want to write about here, but since I was at the Royal Opera House to see Madam Butterfly at the beginning of the week, I think they will have to wait. Irene and I went in the afternoon, and had a meal in Covent Garden, which was busy and noisy. Then up to the very top of the Royal Opera House, which is daunting if you're not very keen on heights. I don't mind sitting looking down, but I don't like walking down steps looking down. When we got to our row, I had to pass a man who was already in his seat, and rather than face outwards, I edged along face to face with him. I resisted the temptation to grab hold of him, as if he were a bannister, nevertheless, there was a point when we were almost dancing, if not quite embracing. However, you don't want to know about all that.

This was the first time I had seen Butterfly, although, of course, I know the famous aria, One Fine Day, and much of the story. I hadn't realised though what a cynical character Pinkerton is. I was quite shocked when at the beginning of the story, he says he will rent a house on a 999 year lease, but can terminate at the end of a month - and then applies the same attitude to his forthcoming marriage. What's more Butterfly is only 15. Butterfly was composed at the beginning of the 20th century, but what it's describing is no different from sex tourism today. I felt that unlike some operas, it had a really strong plot. As for the music, Butterfly herself was wonderful, and won a 'bravo' and spontaneous applause for 'One Fine Day'. I don't know whether it's right to applaud mid-story, but I do know from my half a year in a theatrical agency, that in the musical theatre, they love a show stopper. I thought the whole production was good, but I read a slating review on line from the Independant; hunting around I found a good one from The Guardian. However, they both approved of Butterfly, played by Kristine Opolais. My one criticism, which was also mentioned by both papers, was Butterfly's dying scene, when she starts flapping her arms (clad in her white bridal outfit) and lurching forward. What is she doing? I thought, and then realised she was being a dying butterfly. But it didn't work for me; I'd have preferred her to lay dying on the ground in view of Pinkerton. Her 'tacky, flapping gesture' as described by the Guardian, was not only undignified, but what's worse, almost comic - just at the moment, when one should be moved to tears.

Emotions are heightened by that sort of occasion. It put me in a romantic frame of mind and I noticed a couple in the street, as we came out to the street, kissing passionately. As we crossed the bridge to take us back to Waterloo, some young men passed us by. I could imagine that it was the sort of occasion - a warm night in London, buzzing with people - when such a group might turn to a couple of women and say, 'How about coming for a coffee, girls,' and a romance would be born. I had to remind myself that I was no longer in my teens or twenties, and that it would not be happening to me.

I got home at 12.30 like a proverbial Cinderella, and found the OM asleep in a chair. And, as Pepys might have said - and in fact, did say, And So to Bed.

Garden photos

Above and below - our garden in May, as described in my last posting. Various rhododendrons on the turning circle at the front, and the view of the back with different coloured foliage.

Below: The view over Surrey from the Space Science Laboratory. (Nice view, shame about the lecture - you can tell I'm not a scientist.



And now - Loseley Park




Above: Loseley Park near Guildford - the walled garden







Above: Some photos of Wisley Gardens on a recent visit.

Books, and Blossoms in May

In the lovely sunny days that have passed since my last entry, we have had several days out, not least because of the bank holidays all falling together. Two trips to Wisley – one with the OH, and the other with friends, our first visit to Loseley Park in Guildford – I may find some photos – and a family lunch at Cookham for 16 people, when we celebrated the 93^rd birthday of an aunt. I also went with the OH lecture at a science laboratory in Holmbury St Mary. Nice garden and wonderful view. I took some snaps there too. We also went to a friend with a wonderful garden, similarly, on the North Downs, though I forgot my camera on that occasion. We were most impressed with the walled garden at Loseley. It was a windy day, but inside the walled garden, it was sunny and beautifully sheltered; we couldn't believe that roses were flowering there already, so early in May.

On the writing front, I gave a very successful talk at Knaphill Library, to the reading circle there – about a dozen or more people. I had a number of book sales, there, of all three of my books – Tainted Tree, my genealogical novel which tells of American adoptee, Addie Russell's search for her identity; A Bottle of Plonk, a tale of a cheap bottle of wine, and the people whose hands it passes through, and also, The Fruit of the Tree – my autobiographical account of my experience of cot death and miscarriage.

I had a lovely email from the group organiser, who said, 'We really enjoyed your talk, the group were all talking so enthusiastically about you afterwards that I had difficulty persuading them to go home so the cleaners would come in.'

This is all most encouraging, particularly as my American e-publisher, Virtual Tales, has ceased to be, and I'm waiting to see if the American version of Plonk – Have Wine, Will Travel, will be taken up by Untreed Reads. Of course, I now have three short stories on line, two of which have been published by www.untreedreads.com and contracts for several more, so anyone who wants to try out my work with something really short, will find these, both there, and on my Amazon page.

I finished reading If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things, but I won't comment on it now. I will let it simmer in my mind, so that I can give fair comment about it.

I thought you might enjoy another virtual tour of the garden, because, of course, everything has changed since the spring photos and description.

Now that the red leaves of the pieris have faded, the back of the garden is muted and full of subtlety. We have many colours of leaf – the pieris themselves are a yellow-green or lime green, now, contrasting with the emerald of the laurel, and the darker shades of the conifers, around and behind them. The even darker cotoneaster is now peppered with tiny white flowers and their marzipan scent attracts numerous bees to visit. They blend in with the grey green of senecio, and this, in turn, highlights the coppery red of the berberis, alongside it. This is the view from my kitchen window and my little study window, where I now sit.

At the front, the garden is, at present, filled with a vulgar display of colour, quite the opposite to the back. We have rhododendrons of pale mauve and pinky mauve – the natural varieties – and also deep purple, pink and scarlet bushes, occupying a centre bed. I love these wonderful colours, just as much as the quiet tones of the other garden. The other front beds are edged with masses of cranesbill, not large showy flowers like the rhododendrons, but in quantity, doing a fine job of bringing colour to the garden at this time of year, and also attracting bees. The beds are also sporting the blue of cornflowers and potentillas of lemon yellow and gold against the backdrop of senecio, pieris and wine coloured berberis. Just in front of the window, there are three roses in bud – survivors of the havoc wrought by numerous deer over time. Two nights ago, I saw a deer in the garden – I shushed it away, and the roses have survived again. Whether they will get a chance to flower remains to be seen. It was cold last night, so I don't discount the possibility of frost. I will wait till next month before putting out bedding plants. We still have winter flowering velvety pansies in yellow and purple, in two tubs and two hanging baskets by the front door.

We have three rainwater butts, and have used them to water wherever it was necessary – not the grass, just plants. The butts were only one-third full, after five or six weeks with no rain, but the rain last weekend refilled them, and we're getting a fourth butt, in case of dry weather, late in the year. Not that I'm complaining. This has been a wonderful spring.

My last book circle read - The Lacuna

I didn’t really enjoy this book, to start with. There was so much concentration on the writing and not enough on the main character. I recognised that this was a literary book, but each time I put it down, I couldn’t remember anything about it. For me people are more important than lyrical writing. I can’t say that I will enjoy something that’s badly written, but I can be tempted in to almost any good story and good characters.

Initially, the hero, Harrison Shepherd, doesn’t seem to have an identity. Each person that he works for seems to give him a different name. I started to get interested about page 70. Whether before or after that, I enjoyed it when Harrison is first employed to make plaster by sculptor, Diego Rivera, and liked the idea of him becoming expert at it because it was like making dough for sweet buns. I liked the beginning of the relationship that had developed, there.

I began to see the humour in the Harrison’s words and descriptions. Gradually the book took off, and I enjoyed all the latter part, as he progressed to manhood (and became an influential writer) and particularly the important relationships in his life – that with Lev Trotsky, with the Mexican artists, Rivera and Frida Kahlo, and most of all, with his secretary and protector – Violet Brown. I was also extremely interested in the period of the ‘Un-American activities’, the witch-hunts, which Harrison falls victim to, and moved by his increasing sense of aloneness and desertion by many. I appreciated and applauded the ending.

I would give the book 3.5 if I could, not, 4, because it took too long to get to the point, but better than 3, because in the end, I enjoyed most of it. Just as I would have chopped a chunk off the end of Poisonwood, so I would contract the beginning, and get to Violet Brown much, much faster, in The Lacuna.

Spring pictures

April - far from cruel

My garden in spring always makes me happy, and these last few days, with no rain, and sunshine as warm as May or June, have allowed me to wander in and out just to see what’s coming up. My ideal is that there should be colour and flower throughout the year, but somehow, this year at least, the early flowers have stayed and many of the new ones have arrived.

So today, I’m taking you on a virtual tour. I can’t really capture the whole view in photographs, so probably there won’t be any. You’ll have to make do with words and descriptions alone. At the back, at the end of a lawn, there’s a mixture of laurel and leylandii, which despite its reputation does a good job at screening us from neighbours. In front of that I can see three pieris, one of which was planted last year and the others, the year before. Pieries bear a white hanging flower, not dissimilar to a catkin, but though these have few discernible flowers this year, they have bright red new leaves, contrasting with the old lime green ones. At their feet, the first of the bluebells are making an appearance, contrasting with the pillar box red foliage. At the moment three tiny rabbits are frolicking on the grass and eating what they can of my plants, no doubt.

Down the side of the grass, there’s a mix of shrubs in greens, grey and wine red, in front of which are yellow and red polyanthus – or primula, or primroses, whichever you like to call them. Blending in are forget-me-nots and the shrub, mahonia, which has evergreen leaves but these have red mixed in with the greens, and now sport bright yellow flowers.

Outside of the front window of the house are two further beds, and there is a far one, where little grows because of the huge chestnut tree which shades it. We have started growing daffodils there, and they were in evidence, a couple of weeks ago. On the other beds, there are still some daffs, polyanthus - and bluebells just starting, plus a mass of grape hyacinths (muscari). These tiny flowers, which, like the daffodils, will be untidy in another week, have nevertheless cheered us with their brilliant blue colour, impossible to record on camera. Here too, we have another group of mahonia with their bright yellow flowers, and more pieris, showing both creamy white flowers and vermillion leaves. We used to have a gap in May, just after this cornucopia of colour, when almost everything turn to leaf. But the first of the cranesbill blooms, the size of a two pence piece and bright pink – almost periwinkle – has made its appearance, and more of these tiny perennial geraniums will encircle the beds as the spring progresses.

Learning about rejection at Panton House

I was listening to a programme about actors today – some time back in the 60s or 70s. They were short of money, trying out all sorts of things – a bit like writers, really. Now of course, they’re the important actors of our time – Bill Nighy, Alun Armstrong and others. Back then, they struggled. It reminded me of the theatrical agency that I joined as my first job. Where are you now, Renee, I wonder. We were a foursome in a small set of offices in Panton House, Panton Street, not far from Picadilly. The boss, Renee (never work for a woman!), next one down, Basil. My sidekick and Renee’s secretary, Carole (now was it with or without an e.? ) And me, the office junior.

I thought it would be exciting, but it was boring, because I didn’t have challenging enough work to do. We had very few stars through the door, but an inordinate number of young hopefuls, each clutching their portfolio of photographs and their CV of accomplishments. My boss expected me to make coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon, but I had to heat the water in a saucepan. My coffee turned out really well – but the tea was hopeless – you really should have a kettle for tea. She bought the cheapest tea, anyway – I think it was Brooke Bond Dividend – because I know her little son use to get some sort of benefit, like a stamp or similar from each pack.

One day the little blighter – he was 3 – was brought to the office and put in my care, because there was no babysitter available. While I wasn’t looking, he opened all the drawers of the filing cabinet and it nearly fell on top of me. When she went abroad, she used to ring in and get me to telephone her husband’s office on one line and her father in law on another. (We only had three lines.) The first time I did this, I cut her off. But Basil covered for me.

We never discovered anyone important, but that’s not surprising because most of the young actors and actresses who darkened the door were sent away. I learned about rejection long before I experienced it.

I’ve been out to lunch today, and we sat in the sunshine in a pub garden. Then we moved to our friends’ garden and sat there. Yesterday, we walked through our lovely woods delivering leaflets about the meeting in a week’s time. We do not want our wood destroyed and fenced off.

Earlier in the week, I took 1000 words to Guildford Writers; progress is being made slowly on the novel, Innocent Bystanders. Ditto my reading book The Lacuna. I can appreciate the writing, but I can’t say I am being drawn to read it. As far as I’m concerned, it is putdownable.

At the weekend, we visited the family in Cambridge. The two granddaughters are both in a position to look down on me, as even the 9 year old is taller than I am.

This morning I got a notification that my story, An Affair of the Mind had been reviewed by

Aquaflame64 of Night Owl Reviews, who said:

The story is three and a half pages long but has a relatable charm and a tiny sense of humor. I believe everyone out there has let paranoia get the best of them at one point in their lives. We've all had that moment where we look over our shoulder because we think someone is following us. Rosalind has months filled with these moments after a bus ride. The story has two twists that I didn't see coming and found very satisfying.
The only bad part of the story was Rosalind’s obsession with a man she meets on the bus. I can understand the attraction towards the man. The months of obsessing and fantasizing about the man seems to go a bit far and feel forced. Other then that minor problem this is exactly what a short story should be.

Aquaflame64 gave it 3.5 points out of 5, and I was quite happy with her review. You can see it here:

http://www.nightowlreviews.com/nor/Reviews/Aquaflame64-reviews-An-Affair-Of-The-Mind-by-Jacquelynn-Luben.aspx