Philosophy

Six Degrees of Separation – Wifedom…

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Six Degrees of Separation is an excuse to peruse six favourite books linked to an initial offering by our host KateW and eventually link them back to the beginning. Kate W offers us big themes in her choices and since I have been participating, these have included – being adrift in Time, Friendship, Memory, and Romance. This month we have the biographical Wifedom and the theme for me will be that of wives albeit mainly fictional examples – also, three of the books have been adapted for screen…

I have not read Wifedom (as is usually the case with Kate W’s suggestions) but I would like to after reading what Amazon has to say about the book. – At the end of summer 2017, Anna Funder found herself at a moment of peak overload. Family obligations and household responsibilities were crushing her soul and taking her away from her writing deadlines. She needed help, and George Orwell came to her rescue.

“I’ve always loved Orwell,” Funder writes, “his self-deprecating humour, his laser vision about how power works, and who it works on.” So after rereading and savoring books Orwell had written, she devoured six major biographies tracing his life and work. But then she read about his forgotten wife, and it was a revelation.

Eileen O’Shaughnessy married Orwell in 1936. O’Shaughnessy was a writer herself, and her literary brilliance not only shaped Orwell’s work, but her practical common sense saved his life. But why and how, Funder wondered, was she written out of their story? Using newly discovered letters from Eileen to her best friend, Funder re-creates the Orwells’ marriage, through the Spanish Civil War and the Second World War in London. As she peeks behind the curtain of Orwell’s private life she is led to question what it takes to be a writer—and what it is to be a wife.

A breathtakingly intimate view of one of the most important literary marriages of the twentieth century, Wifedom speaks to our present moment as much as it illuminates the past. Genre-bending and utterly original, it is an ode to the unsung work of women everywhere.

The Aubrey–Maturin series of novels by Patrick O’Brian have been compared to the works of Jane Austen – exhaustively researched plots drawn from the annals of the British Royal Navy and transplanted into Patrick O’Brian’s fictional Master and Commander series, these books are as equally character-driven as they are portrayals of the events of life in the navy during the years of the Napoleonic wars and I urge anyone who fears such books to be too technical or militaristic, to try them. No better example – beyond the two main protagonists Aubrey and Maturin, than the portrait of the eventual wife of Captain Aubrey – Sophie. The life of any sailor’s wife would be hard and full of fear of her husband never returning, long periods of absence, varying financial fortune and many other forms of uncertainty, but in Sophie we have a wife of heroic qualities to match the vicissitudes heaped upon her – a wife who takes charge of Aubrey’s home life every bit as much as he is captain of his ship at sea! The rather battered cover below depicts Sophie’s first appearance in the series of books alongside her future husband…

Another wife heaped with vicissitudes along with her husband, is Raynor Winn in her autobiographical account of how she and her husband, having lost their house and business due to a treacherous friend and having simultaneous with their homelessness, receive a diagnosis of her husband’s terminal illness. They decide that with nowhere else to go and nothing to be done, they will spend the summer walking the coastal path from Somerset to Dorset around Devon and Cornwall. No spoilers but their endurance trial brings unexpected rewards and Raynors’s support of her husband is exemplary… Below is the very beautiful cover designed by Angela Harding.

If the three wives portrayed so far have been long-suffering, among other things, Cathy in East of Eden, by John Steinbeck, is the one dishing out the suffering, beginning by running away after burning her parents to death – she is a character of pure evil – described as having a “malformed soul”. Steinbeck regarded East of Eden as his magnum opus even though other books are more famous, Cannery Row (previously covered by me), The Grapes of Wrath and that much studied in school – Of Mice and Men. Despite being made into an iconic film featuring James Dean, I venture to suggest that not so many people have read the epic family saga East of Eden. Indeed the film only deals with part of the story and I wonder if Steinbeck would be disappointed that his magnum opus is not the one that time has accorded that accolade to.

The title East of Eden comes from the fourth chapter of Genesis, verses one through sixteen, which recounts the story of Cain and Abel and the whole book – accused by some of being “moralistic” certainly deals with big themes – good and evil, brotherly rivalry, love and depravity and as always with Steinbeck we are treated to a portrait of the life and times in the Salinas Valley, California. There is a saying about writing that “big themes are dead weights” and whilst this is undoubtedly a weighty novel, it is still a great read from a master, even if not his master work…
The cover below makes as sensational a view as it can of the central drama of two brothers torn apart by the inexplicably evil Cathy.

Another painful marriage is depicted in On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan – an author not renowned for being the most cheerful in his writings, the unfolding of this depiction of a virginal couple on honeymoon in an as yet sexually unliberated 1962, is excruciating in the extreme and yet, such is the quality of the writing – you cannot look away… on Chesil Beach has been turned into a film.

Many of the writers I have covered in my 6 Degrees are writers I read long ago but Nicola Griffiths is a new favourite whose canon I am working through in order, from Ammonite (Lesbian science fiction) to her current amazing historical novels featuring Hild, a powerful woman from Britain’s pre-medieval history. Between these wildly divergent books linked only by their themes of strong women and excellent writing, comes the Aud Torvingen series of which Stay is the second book. Aud is not exactly your typical P.I. as she is a woman of independent wealth but in each of the three books she conducts investigations, willingly or unwillingly and (spoiler alert) – she also falls in love in book one and in book two has to deal with the loss and the grief over her lover. Although Aud does not find the happiness of marriage until book three, Stay is a portrait of a wife thwarted and her response by throwing herself into “a series of physical, moral, and emotional challenges that she has been dodging for weeks, months, and years – none of her choices are easy.” What more can we ask from a book…

My last link, slightly tenuously back to Wifedom, is The Fourth Hand by John Irving. It is a tale of a wife who is so dedicated to her husband that – well here is what the Penguin blurb says:- While reporting a story from India, a New York television journalist has his left hand eaten by a lion; millions of TV viewers witness the accident. In Boston, a renowned hand surgeon awaits the opportunity to perform the nation’s first hand transplant. A married woman in Wisconsin wants to give the one-handed reporter her husband’s left hand, that is, after her husband dies. But the husband is alive, relatively young, and healthy…
The widow supplies permission for the transplant but then demands visitation rights with the hand – a typical thought experiment of a plot from the masterful John Irving. This is the first of John Irving’s books that I have included in 6 Degeees but once discovered, I devoured his early books such as The World According to Garp and several of his books have been turned into films. I recommend some of his later books too, such as Till I Find You about tattoos and tattoo artists. Irving has repeated elements that crop up in many of his books – bears, hotels, wrestling but however far-fetched some of the things Irving writes about may seem to be, they make you think about life in a clever and enjoyable way – no wonder he occupies half a bookshelf of mine!
The link back to Wifedom – the extraordinary connection between and support/dedication of a wife…

Spies

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What is a spy if not a cursed liar
Who for love puts hand in fiercest fire
But not the love given to a sweet woman
The love of country is inhuman.

We watched a French, great tragedy conclude
Where agents of The Bureau were deluded
Believing they could steer their star-crossed fate
Clinging to the happy ending till too late.

For once your life is built on falsehood complex
The web you weave the fates will always vex
And you must pay for secrets stolen, finally
No matter how handlers and bosses rally

The cause of saving hapless agents’ lives
Is hard on lovers, colleagues, friends and wives
All pawns in what is known as the Great Game
The spy is destined for a life without fame

And if their life of infamy be revealed
Be sure the fates no happiness will deal.

© Andrew Wilson, 2023

This poem was written in response to a challenge from Posted by Björn Rudberg (brudberg) in Poetry Forms on dVerse – The Poet’s Pub, to write a Heroic Sonnet in iambic pentameter – you can read about it here.

My partner and I have been binge-watching a five-series drama made by the French company Canal called The Bureau. Since the French are famed for their interest in love, this drama, whilst being a cracking, edge-of-your-seat tale of the life of spies, also examines the philosophical implications for the loves of those who make their living by living a lie – can they find happiness? Since the poem might be spoiler enough, I will say no more…

This is the first time I have attempted a Sonnet in Iambic Pentameter – something I vaguely remember being taught in school but had to resort to Wikpedia for the finer points, including all the exceptions to the rules which make lines memorable – I hope I have done it justice. I guess that we many of us have this poetry form flowing through our veins with so many great poets and playwrights having embraced the form.

D is for Death

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This post is part of the A to Z 2020 Challenge. I have decided to theme the posts around personal and societal responses to the Covid 19 crisis, including my resumption of Blogging!

Does Death give Meaning to Life?

My mother served in the Second World War as a signaling Sergeant and she said that over the course of the war, there were six men, any of whom she might have made a life with if they hadn’t gone off to where the action was and never come back. In that sentence, I have not used the word death, but you know what I mean. Death is the elephant in the room. My mother had certainly had enough of it and so, when my grandparents died, the first people I knew who died, my sisters and I were not allowed to go to the funeral – my mother did not want to expose us to death. Those funerals were the proper hole in the ground in an English country churchyard funerals. Soon after that though, funerals in England moved, mostly, to being cremations. A poll in 2016 showed that 75% of people in the UK prefer cremation. Whether it is the cost, £1000 more on average, for a traditional funeral; the move away from religion and thus church burials; the lack of space in churchyards – I don’t know the answer to why we have moved away from burials to cremations. But I do know one of the effects of this switch and that is the waiting list that means it can be three or four weeks between a person dying and the catharsis of a funeral.

Why does this wait make a difference? Well in 1995 I went to live in Ireland and at first I was deceived by the fact that everyone spoke “English”, into thinking that the culture was also similar. I mean if you went to France and had to learn to speak a different language, then you would also expect the culture to be different too. So the first thing that made me appreciate the difference in Ireland, was the way of death, or rather, what happens when someone dies. Firstly the word goes out to all relatives and significant friends. Everyone drops what they are doing, all over Ireland and even abroad and by the evening, everyone is at the deceased’s home in time for a service where the body arrives at the church. The night will be spent remembering the person and the next day, everyone goes to another service and the coffin is processed by all the mourners to the local burial ground. Another difference – the burial grounds are usually multi-denominational and the churchyards are not usually used for graves. The party or wake may then continue for the next night or more… Now the Postmaster whose mother had passed at that first Irish funeral I encountered, told me he had been going to funerals in his village all his life but this was the first time he had been at the receiving end of one. For the first time, he realized how supportive it was to have all the family around him so quickly. Contrast this with the three-week wait in England and a quick service at a crematorium in whatever religious denomination you require and another group of mourners lining up outside as you complete. It might only be my opinion, but I feel that in England, we are particularly detached from death.

My partner, on the other hand, feels that the Irish are naturally more demonstrative and that the English have always been more reserved rather than any effect of the war and that children were not taken to funerals because they were not regarded as mature enough for the experience – take your pick or any other answers on a postcard (comment box)…

So different cultures respond differently or if not differently, then in degree, to death both in terms of emotion, practices of remembrance and of religious rituals – but is there some essential similarity? Well, evidence of burying the dead is often taken to be the sign of transition from ape to hominid – a sign that our big brains had developed to the point of self-consciousness where we could imagine an afterlife or conceptualize the preciousness of the Ancestor or simply identify with a corpse and not wish to leave it unburied and prey to animals. All these things require acts of imagination, feats of language and co-operation, all signs of big brain development or to put it another way, funereal arrangements are fundamental to being human.

The Covid 19 is having a very distressing effect as people are essentially dying alone, being buried without ceremony and as so often, when we are deprived of something, we appreciate what we have lost much more. Will we find new ways to celebrate the passing of relatives and friends and strangers?

At the end of the last post, I suggested that life has no intrinsic meaning and I stand by that, but the way that we treat our dead shows that humans create their own meanings, light their own flames of imagination, art, scientific enquiry and philosophy in the dark vastness of the universe. How long that flame will burn given the way we are treating the planet is open to question but as the warnings of Greta Thunberg are temporarily eclipsed by the Covid 19 crisis, there is a little hope in that crisis. Pollution is down, businesses being re-configured, priorities are being re-assessed at all levels from the individual to governments. We are pausing to draw breath and consider where we find ourselves. It’s not all good news though, the forces of repression are trying to claw more influence through emergency powers but then more people have time to scrutinize everything. Who knows where we will be on the other side of the crisis, but we live in interesting times…

Alas Poor Yorick!

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Passing through a Leeds shopping mall on my way to work the other morning, my eye was drawn by this blinging handbag! I have observed that the skull motif is everywhere at the moment but this one seemed to me to be referencing Damien Hirst’s “For the Love of God” a diamond encrusted skull sculpture. This sculpture and perhaps unknowingly, all the current skull imagery are in the nature of a Memento Mori a reminder of our mortality. I say unconscious because I wonder whether the majority of the age group with whom the skull fashion is popular are not still at an age when life seems endless or rather is lived so much in the moment and well before intimations of mortality impinge. My generation grew up with the threat of “The Bomb” hanging over us like the sword of Damocles and our parents went through a world war whence I am sure they needed no memento mori – Death was all too possible and frequent for you and your loved ones. So perhaps it is this generation for whom even the threat of AIDS seems to have receded, that are embracing the skull and unconsciously saying “Ask not for whom the bell tolls…”