Tag Archives: Writers

A Year in Books/Day 216: Wild Irish Women

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  • Title: Wild Irish Women Extraordinary Lives from History
  • Author: Marian Broderick
  • Year Published: 2001/This Edition: 2002 (The O’Brien Press)
  • Year Purchased: September 2012
  • Source: My momma.
  • About: Besides hailing from the fair island of Ireland (or, in some cases, having Irish parentage), all of the women profiled in this book have one thing in common: they are all dead. Just my cup of tea! I love historical ladies, whatever their professional or social province or claim to immortality, however slight. The more eccentric, the better. The 75 women included in this volume, for good or ill, do our complicated place in history justice. The stories of their often oppressive lives are stimulating, maddening, thought-provoking, and inspiring. They were artists, writers, intellectuals, wives, mothers, sisters, daughters, lovers, republicans, actresses, scientists, and activists. One thing they never were, was boring. Since my curiosity about the women who smoothed my path is unapologetically insatiable, I couldn’t flip the pages fast enough. It’s a wonderful tease into the fascinating subject of forgotten women. Distilling-or gutting-the essence of a life, human and flawed and fertile, into a few pages comprised of paper and ink could be, and often is, problematic. Lives aren’t edited, but history is; what is left out is as important as what remains. Take this book as a nice starting point, then go forth and learn more.
  • Motivation: My love of feisty, original, gutsy women is well-known. Naturally, this book reminded my mom of me.
  • Times Read: 1
  • Random Excerpt/Page 49: “However, there was something that lifted the spirits of Peig (Sayers) and the other islanders on the long, dark winter nights: storytelling. This important form of entertainment was part of the old Irish oral tradition. A dail, or assembly, would meet at night in a house, and a comedy, mystery or tragedy would slowly unfold. Peig, with her pure Irish and her beautiful embellishments and turns of phrase, was an acknowledged master of the art. She kept hundreds of stories in her phenomenal memory, and she was able to memorize a story that would take a week in the telling after hearing it just once.”
  • Happiness Scale: 9 1/2

Daily Diversion #55: An Irish Souvenir

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I’m easy to buy for; just ask my mother. She returned from Ireland a few days ago, laden with gifts. Lots and lots of bookish things for her daughter, and normal souvenirs for everyone else. My favourite:

Plays Unpleasant by (George) Bernard Shaw

Plays Unpleasant by (George) Bernard Shaw. The Penguin looks like he is performing on a balance beam created by the shadows of the easel. I notice weird things.

I love PENGUIN BOOKS editions. The little mascot is so kicky and adorable, and the design is clean, fresh, modern, and instantly recognizable. Iconic. My mom unearthed an original 1946 printing of Shaw’s Plays Unpleasant in some random bookstall in Ireland. I’m saving it for November and clear, cold nights. Steaming cups of chili and cinnamon laced hot chocolate. Fuzzy knee-high socks. Quilts and clear heads. Darkness. The stage is set, in my head; the actors are rehearsing, the director is taking notes. Opening night is creeping up: Widowers’ Houses, The Philanderer, Mrs. Warren’s Profession. Bliss is waiting in the wings.

A Year in Books/Day 215: Ariel Poems by Sylvia Plath

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English: Digital image of Sylvia Plath's signature

English: Digital image of Sylvia Plath’s signature (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

  • Title: Ariel Poems by Sylvia Plath
  • Author: Sylvia Plath
  • Year Published: 1965 (HarperPerennial)
  • Year Purchased: 1994
  • Source: A bookstore in Tennessee.
  • About: Sylvia was a born writer. She wrote like a lioness: fearless, protective, maternal, bold, ruthless, nurturing, unapologetic. Published a couple of years after her suicide, her estranged husband, Ted Hughes, changed the make-up of Ariel by switching out twelve poems for those of his choosing; it took 39 years for this to be righted. This is the altered edition. No matter, the poems are stunning. My favourites change with the seasons, my mood, my age. They are chameleons, different with each reading. They should, at that, be read aloud. Adding a voice tips the alchemical balance anew. If you haven’t read Plath’s poems in a while, try again. She isn’t just for moody teenage girls. I promise.
  • Motivation: I was young, very young. I bought this slim volume on a road trip to Tennessee. It was autumn, the leaves were falling. I wore a lot of plaid dresses and flat shoes, good for twirling around in the crisp mountain air. The season was a perfect accompaniment for her fierce lamentations and burning clarity, a like-minded companion for the turmoil of my heart.
  • Times Read: Multiple
  • Random Excerpt/Page 57: “I cannot run, I am rooted, and the gorse hurts me/With its yellow purses, its spiky armoury./I could not run without having to run forever./The white hive is snug as a virgin,/Selling off her brood cells, her honey, and quietly humming.”
  • Happiness Scale: 8