There is no doubt in my mind that Art Matters: Because Your Imagination Can Change the World is the book equivalent of a rainbow. Not only is it visually beautiful, something we can thank the talented Chris Riddell for, but also marvellously hopeful, and that is all on the incomparable Neil Gaiman.
It felt like an energy transfusion. Though the New Year is as a rule associated with the opening of new doors, sometimes the draft that grows between them makes it impossible to do anything other than fall on one’s face.
If only I could blame the dog for the lack of blog posts! Unfortunately I am not allowed to have pets in the household (somehow I ended up writing poets instead of pets – cue existential crisis).
What in fact took place is just as outrageous though. I somehow managed to lock myself out of the blog and then proceeded to do the same with the email account associated to it. To give you an idea of how things are going at the moment, I also seem to have forgotten the password that gives me access to all accounts at work.
With a bit of optimism still in me, and an extra key just in case, I might just make it to Edinburgh in one piece. First escape of the year, mid-January, of course it had to be to Scotland.
Quite in the same way as I did not expect Kant to be amusing, I certainly did not expect Hermann Hesse to be this… approachable. Yet again I seem to have dived into someone’s body of work without beforehand reading anything about them. I mean, I had heard of Hesse before, of his brilliance, but I had never heard a word about his tone, his writing. Let’s just say I have ordered a copy of Siddhartha and will be searching for some sort of biography soon (any recommendations?). I am sure his fiction will sound different from his essays, but I really enjoyed his voice, or at least the one from the translation that somehow found its way to me.
“I’m always so ashamed when I discover how well-read other people are and how ignorant I am in comparison.”
I thought that the feeling so straightforwardly articulated above by the wonderful Helene Hanff would come as a consequence of going through this collection of considerations, but I am pleased to report that Hesse made me feel completely at home. It read almost like a conversation, really, and quite an enjoyable and enlightening one.
“It was my life – like all lives, mysterious and irrevocable and sacred. So very close, so very present, so very belonging to me.
How wild it was, to let it be.”
It took me over a month to get through this book. That makes it sound like a burden, but it wasn’t – even if I could feel its weight upon my shoulders. I don’t like rushing stories, making them happen before their time, but I have been told I am a fast reader – I believe it has more to do with the easiness with which we blend with words than the act of racing through them. That said, it has been years since I last dedicated so much time to reading one single book. It didn’t feel wrong, the idea of giving up or leaving it be never quite crossed my mind, but there was something particular about it… I just needed more time – and I am glad I took it, I am glad I carried on. I found it interesting though, how this attitude seemed to somewhat reflect what was happening in the book itself.
Wild is not the kind of journey that takes my breath away. It is not the kind of journey that drowns reality. Instead, I found it to be the kind of journey that makes you painfully aware, conscious, of who you are, of where you are, of how you are. It can feel claustrophobic at times, not because of the lack of space, but because of the abundance of it – you have to be yourself everywhere at the same time. There’s no silence, you are, become, it.
Even though we know from the beginning that she has made it through, it’s almost unbelievable how it seems to become irrelevant once you start. Her voice is so honest, so real, her descriptions rich to the point of hurting, of mending… Anything could happen.
I believe the message to be this: life is a journey – no matter how ill-equipped or misinformed we feel, we can do it. There is no shame in asking for help, no shame in wanting to be alone or craving company, no shame in making mistakes. One step and another and another and so on. Take in your surroundings, routine is but a word. Deep breaths. We will get there.
Drop everything that you are doing and go read this book.
I apologize for the bold text, but this collection of letters is truly a must read, a must feel, a must everything.
I really have no words. I think I will be keeping this one on my bedside table till the end of times. I might need to reach out for it to remember why I keep leaving the bed every single morning.
Most say this book is about writing, and that was indeed how it all started, I guess, a writer asking another writer for help. I do believe it grew to be much more than that though. These letters are about living. Yes, living as opposed to just surviving, even if sometimes that is all one can hope for, all that one can manage. But the feeling of failure that usually accompanies this barely surviving statement? That is a choice, that is a way of looking at things. And that is why, once I finished reading these letters, I went back on my collection of writings and brought this little thing I once wrote with me. It felt right. So here it is.
If anyone asks for me,
tell them I died…
but then tell them I survived.
If anyone calls out for me,
tell them I’m deaf…
but then tell them I can finally hear.
If anyone gives you a letter for me,
tell them I’m blind…
but then tell them I can finally see.
If no one searches for me,
tell them I finally lost…
but then tell them I succeeded.
Many things changed
Many things prevailed
Many paths disappeared
Many paths emerged
Many plans failed
Many plans triumphed
Many people passed away…
but many people were reborn.
If anyone asks for me,
tell them I finally died…
but then tell them I was reborn.
I changed,
but I prevailed.
I disappeared,
but I emerged.
I failed,
but I triumphed.
If nobody searches for me,
tell them I lost…
but then tell them I finally succeeded.
Amanda Palmer is, first and foremost, human. As such, she is bound to say, in our opinion, the wrong thing at, also in our opinion, the wrong time.
It’s not a matter of mistake-making, even if, as a human being, she’s also bound to board that particular train, at least every now and then. She might simply be looking at things from a perspective that happens to stand on the exact opposite side of ours. It doesn’t mean she wants to harm us, though; it doesn’t mean she’s out to get us or fight us. She might just be stating something from her point of view, from where she stands. We have the right to disagree, of course, we even have the right to believe her to be wrong, but attack her because we don’t understand where she’s coming from? Even if we think she’s not coming from the right place, it’s not acceptable – not because she’s famous, but because she’s human.
I believe we nowadays tend to forget that. We are too quick to judge and far too slow when it comes to forgiving. Just because we seem to have only access to digital pieces, through multiple screens and platforms, instead of the actual person, it doesn’t mean they are any less human than we are. We might paint a portrait and it might seem to resemble a particular face, but it doesn’t ever become the human.
That said – and please do forgive me the speech, I just had to share though –, The Art of Asking is the story of Amanda Palmer, the human, written by Amanda Palmer, the human. She is a writer, as we all are, but she was asked to put her story into actual words, and she did the best she could. It’s the story of a human being living a human life and wanting to be something. She takes us through her ups and downs, through her smiles and tears, through her nights at the clubs and the days spent in bed. She invites us into her private world and says, here, let me show you.
I saw love, passion, dedication, strength, pain, disappointment, sadness, heartbreak, grief, fear… and, above all else, I saw hope – and let’s be honest, there’s never too much of that going around.
Amanda Palmer is a flower. We can choose to either accept or reject her offer. She is not imposing herself on us, she’s inviting us to look at the world through her eyes. If we don’t feel comfortable, all we have to do is close the book or pause the audiobook, keeping in mind that just because we don’t like something, it doesn’t mean said something is necessarily bad. It just isn’t our cup of tea.
Let’s practice kindness, love and respect. If we all saw everything exactly the same way, the world would lose its endless dimensions and become flat.
I am not sure whether to call milk and honey a collection of poems or a journey written in poetic form, but the latter feels somewhat more suiting. Even though they can be read and cherished on their own, I believe together they become a much more powerful entity, they become someone.
Each poem is a color, has a particular density and intensity; as a whole, milk and honey is a spectrum, a portrait we instinctively identify with, even if just around the eyes.
It is blunt at times, unapologetic, but in a way that comes across as delicate. There might be a soft shade of anger, but absolutely no rage. There’s disappointment, sadness, grief and even faint traces of melancholy. As you go on though, as you go through milk and honey’s pages, these sentiments are not weight being set upon your shoulders. Instead, they seem to reach out to comfort you from within their ache. These are tears being poured on a seed of hope that will soon bloom, that will eventually blossom.
milk and honey is someone’s story, a story that has been made history. milk and honey is a hand that will lead you, not away from life’s heartbreaks, but through them. milk and honey is strength, self-love and self-acceptance, wonder… and so much more.
With ups and downs, a reflection of the rollercoaster that is life, milk and honey is both a beautifully intense read and a physically beautiful book.
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with being unusual because it’s the currency that keeps the world turning and worth writing about.”
It amazes me how fiction is, after all these centuries, still looked down upon. Even though I understand why someone would label it as an escape, I believe many are those who mistakenly paint it as a switch-off button to all that is real, some going as far as calling it cowardice. I mean, why would anyone want to shut down a reality that keeps slapping us with truths about beauty, failure and so on? Preposterous concept, right?
The Fangirl Life by Kathleen Smith is a charming reminder that the word escape doesn’t mean that we suddenly stop existing. Even though it could indeed be seen as a break from the outside world, the one inside keeps both eyes, heart and mind, open. What we see while there, what we go through, what we learn, it can be used on the outside, and The Fangirl Life by Kathleen Smith shows us how. Instead of sending us out of our way to buy materials to improve our lives, The Fangirl Life teaches us how to find them within ourselves and write the greatest storyline ever, with its breathtaking ups and heartbreaking downs.
One of the greatest things about this book is Kathleen Smith and her delightful writing voice. She won’t make you feel awkward for loving the world of fiction. Instead, she will wrap an arm around your shoulders and say, I know exactly what you mean. She embraces her passion instead of making you feel guilty for it, which in turn opens doors to a safe haven that will have you feeling at home and comfortable enough to give her learning how to deal suggestions a go.
As the author reminds us, our life is the greatest story of all time. As avid followers of the fictional world, we know just what a story needs to capture our attention and to keep us intrigued, interested and in love, all at once. As executive producers, directors, writers and main characters of this rollercoaster-style adventure, we have the power. All we need to do is acknowledge our imagination as a skill instead of a distraction, and learn how to use it. Sure, there will be obstacles and unexpected curveballs, but hey, didn’t Miss Fisher get through hers? If she can do it, so can we. At our own pace, with our own breaks.
“No single success or failure will be what defines your role in life. Good character development happens when you show up every day and be kind to others and yourself.”
Being a fangirl is not ridiculous. Being a fangirl is powerful and Kathleen Smith will help us find a way of putting that power to good use with The Fangirl Life.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I am off to plan my AU day.
“If you happen to pass by 84 Charing Cross Road, kiss it for me! I owe it so much.”
Even though the bookshop itself is long gone, you can rest assured that I will be walking by where it stood next time I am in London. I shall buy a new copy of 84 Charing Cross Road and I shall leave it there for someone to find, a reminder of just how much Helene Hanff, even at a distance, loved the place.
You see, I feel like I too owe it quite a lot. If it weren’t for the bookshop and the wonderful people that kept it going for as long as it did, this book would not be a reality, and that’s not something I can live with. Honestly, I can no longer imagine a world without the existence of this little peculiar and hopeful family.
People brought together by books. Real people brought together by real books. It’s like witnessing firsthand a favorite meet-cute crossing the ever-changing line that both separates and connects fiction and reality. It happened. For me, it was an infusion of hope and wonder, wrapped in a collection of letters that speak of gratitude, that speak of dreams, laughs, and that sheds some tears.
These voices, these people, they become alive in your head from the moment you first meet them, from the moment you first read their words. They are a delightful bunch, let me tell you. Their company is entertaining beyond reason, and you soon find yourself involved as if you were always part of the whole scheme.
“People oughtn’t to breeze into your life and out again in ten seconds, without leaving even a name behind. As Mr. Dickens once pointed out, we’re all on our way to the grave together.”
I have yet to sit down for a couple of lifetimes and consider the concept of coincidence, but the truth is that this book has already played its wonderful magic on me. I have met someone through its pages that would have otherwise probably remained a stranger for eternity. This person from what feels like a world away wrote to me because her edition was lacking a page – we have been talking ever since.
I feel like I somehow owe it to Helene Hanff not to break this little enchanting chain. That is why we are giving away a copy of 84 Charing Cross Road this month.
To participate all you have to do is leave a comment on this post saying, “I will kiss it for you.”
Best of luck to you all, fellow book lovers. May the magical hat be on your side!
P.S. You have until the 20th of July to participate.
“I look down at my hands. I’m sure I could write endlessly about nothing. If only I had nothing to say.”
“Such a sad portion of injustice served to beautiful Bolanõ, to die at the height of his powers at fifty years old. The loss of him and his unwritten denying us at least one secret of the world.”
“I count the lines of the envisioned one-hundred-line poem, now three lines shy. Ninety-seven clues but nothing solved, another cold-case poem.”
“It occurred to me, as the heavy curtains were opened and the morning light flooded the small dining area, that without a doubt we sometimes eclipse our own dreams into reality.”
“I suppose I was busy thinking about such things or attempting to untangle the mystery of an expanding network of seemingly unanswerable questions.”
“The compass was old and rusted but it still worked, connecting the earth and stars. It told me where I was standing and which way was west but not where I was going or nothing of my worth.”
“Perhaps there is no past or future, only the perpetual present that contains this trinity of memory.”
There is truly something magical about Patti Smith’s writing. It feels like we are in an alternative reality where time moves in a different way – it follows you instead of having you run after it. It’s quite extraordinary.
Infusões d'Alma 