Category: Buy or Check It Out

A Life of Barbara Stanwyck Steel-True

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Ever since I was old enough to check out books from the adult part of the library, I’ve read towering stacks of movie star biographies. Some are as told you autobiographies that for all they reveal about the star might as well be turned into those book crafts I see on Buzzfeed every so often. You might as well read their Wikipedia page. Other movie star biographies are either so poorly written either to paint their subject as a saint or sinner of all sinners that well, you read them to the end but feel like you’ve just eaten a box of Twinkies for dinner and hate yourself for reading the darn book. (I’m looking at you Forever Young : The Life, Loves, and Enduring Faith of a Hollywood Legend ; The Authorized Biography of Loretta Young.)

And is Victoria Wilson’s A Life of Barbara Stanwyck: Steel-True 1907-1940. Stunning, brilliant, epic and don’t drop this bad boy on your foot come to mind. It’s almost 1000 pages including notes and indexes. We are talking Tom Clancy/Stephen King doorstop size. And it’s just the first volume of a full scale biography. And let’s not forget Miss Barbara Stanwyck worked all the time. Work was like books, essential as breathing. Trust me, if you’re looking for a quick read that has S-E-X and scandal on every single page? Please put down A Life of Barbara Stanwyck: Steel-True 1907-1940 (gently because once again trust me, you don’t want to drop this and break a toe) and scamper off to find a Hollywood Babylon book.

It’s not easy to write a biography on a movie star like Barbara Stanwyck. The easy path for the Stanwyck biographer is to use the studo stories about the tough orphan from the streets and maybe her alleged loved of ladies angle. Luckily, Victoria Wilson does not go the easy route even though she could given her subject. Barbara Stanwyck is not your Marilyn Monroe or Joan Crawford with oceans of press stories and scandals to wade through. She was also not the most open or accessible person. I always got the feeling that if someone like Shelley Winters would open up with a drop of a hat in line at Dunkin Donuts while you waited for your Vanilla Bean Coolattas at the pickup counter and tell you everything you ever wanted to know right down to did they dress left or dress right. But Barbara Stanwyck would be a total clam even if you knew her for years and years. Maybe she might crack open a little bit if you caught her at the right time but you’d be better off buying a Powerball ticket during a $400+ million jackpot week.

And that feeling doesn’t seem to be far off because the Barbara Stanwyck Victoria Wilson uncovers is a woman who keeps to herself. The little girl born Ruby Stevens came from a good family on a downward slide and by the time she was a school aged had no proper home. The very young Ruby was placed with various families and her older siblings, a corner of a room here and there with magical times her favorite sister would swoop in and show her the theatrical world. Given all this turmoil and struggles to support herself once she was a teenager, is this any wonder the young Ruby developed a hard shell. And seriously, how could I not love an person who educated themselves and read so much bookstores would send them things automatically? A person who could read a book every night no matter how long she spent on set or toiling at her ranch.

One of the things you take away from A Life of Barbara Stanwyck: Steel-True 1907-1940 is the iron control that propelled Barbara Stanwyck. Curse her for the way she could drop a friend so completely the hurt can still be felt on the page decades later. Curse her for not leaving Frank Fay sooner. Curse her for not being the mother her son Dion needed. But praise her for the willpower and control she exhibited. A woman who could force herself to work after being crushed by a horse? A woman who filmed some of her best early parts strapped and taped up, her face never betraying the extent of how battered her body was? An actress who cared more about the craft than what gown was being whipped up for her.

Barbara Stanwyck wasn’t perfect or a superwoman but she had layers and levels beyond the usual movie star of her times. That is a lady I want to read more about. And Victoria Wilson can not write the next volumes quick enough to satisfy me.

 

 

 

 

Princesses Behaving Badly

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Back in the glory days of living at Expensive Acres, when Blacklight was well enough to work, we went to the bookstores every weekend. Once the other person was done, we knew we could check certain sections and find the other one. For Blacklight? Just head to the graphic novels and science sections? For me? History. Even better, General European History (RIP Borders, much love). And it was unusual weekend when we didn’t stroll out of Borders with at least one bag and another Borders Reward 40% off coupon gone to Coupon Heaven. I had a bookshelf devoted to Eleanor Herman, Leslie Carroll, Karl Shaw, Michael Farquhar and their ilk. So any wonder while zipping past the New Non-Fiction at the Berlin-Peck Memorial Library on a mission to get the entire Naked Gun series for Blacklight I slowed down only long enough to snatch up Linda Rodriguez McRobbie’s Princesses Behaving Badly: Real Stories from History Without the Fairy-Tale Endings on my way to the DVD section?

Now once I was home and curling up on the bed with Princesses Behaving Badly: Real Stories from History Without the Fairy-Tale Endings, I had a moment of wariness. I’ve read a lot of these real royal stories over the years. And sometimes? They’re not quite good. Even if they’re well researched. Because well, research does not always compelling writing.

Case in point. I found the wait for Kris Waldherr’s Doomed Queens: Royal Women Who Met Bad Ends, From Cleopatra to Princess Di was much better than the actual book. I’ve read Doomed Queens: Royal Women Who Met Bad Ends, From Cleopatra to Princess Di more than once just to make sure I was giving the book a fair shake. It’s okay but it’s like a bag of classic Hershey’s Kisses when you really want to savor a handful of Lindt Almond truffles. Chocolate yes, but not what you need to really satisfy your craving. On a scale of Sex With Kings/Sex With the Queen (bought them in hardcover brand new from Borders= excellent) to oh…Doomed Queens (interlibrary loan first read, picked up for a $1 at a library sale just because later on=meh) would Princesses Behaving Badly fall?

Even though I had two true crimes meets history books on the nightstand, the adventures of Leland Stanford and his pet photographer Eadweard Muybridge, the Hall-Mills murder and F. Scott Fitzgerald did not exist once I opened Princesses Behaving Badly and started to read. I have Muybridge’s The Horse in Motion, 1878 framed at my Company X work desk right next to my HPLHS membership certificate. And Netflix knows I’m a sucker for true crime shows like Deadly Women. That night, I turned off the bedroom light with the greatest reluctance.

Why? I was plunging into well written and researched mini-biographies of women, some who I know from reading or Stuff You Missed In History Class podcasts to ladies I had never encountered before. As a person who has read a vast number of true royal stories, mad props to Linda Rodriguez McRobbie for not just going down the easy path of “Pauline Bonaparte? She could give  Santa Ho Ho Ho lessons” and “Caroline of Brunswick was so nasty…”. It was so refreshing to see both these ladies treated with respect and not just meat holes for poking. Crass yes, but most people think of them as just sluts. Sure, I might have rolled my eyes at mentions of Princess Diana and her daughter in law the Duchess of Cambridge because that comes as naturally to me as breathing, but I was reading about princesses who actually did something besides get on the cover of every darn tabloid in existence. Don’t believe me? Read about Sarah Winnemuca and then we’ll talk about who did the greater good. <crosses arms and raises eyebrow at the People’s Princess cult> And who knew the Punk Princess I used to read about in Vanity Fair became an accomplished business woman who could teach fellow 1980s icon Donald Trump a thing or thirteen.

If I hadn’t just spend a hoarded Amazon gift card on Blacklight’s birthday present (damn you Police Squad: The Complete Series DVD), Princesses Behaving Badly: Real Stories from History Without the Fairy-Tale Endings would have been snapped up for Mr Kindle in a heart beat. For full price. And given my tight book budget and love of a good bargain? I can’t give any other recent real royal stories books that high a praise.

 

Skating Shoes

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

It’s January and the parking lot at Moderate Income Apartments is a bit tricky when it snows as you lug a trash bag to the dumpster. If I fall would I be as graceful as Skating Shoes‘ Lalla Moore? Or would I go smack splat smash on my butt like something out of a Keystone Kops flicker? Given my natural grace (none) I say the latter would be true.

As you might have guessed the Noel Streatfeild kick continues. Nothing like a cozy book on a cold New England January afternoon. And on the chopping block (or shall I say skating rink?) is the charming 1951 tale Skating Shoes (aka White Boots in the UK). Little Harriet Johnson is all wobbly and bobbly from being sick. Her family, a good one but not in the best financial state what with a shop filled with substandard offerings and four children to support, will do almost anything for her to be strong and well again. Enter the family doctor who pulls a few strings and gets Harriet free skating time at the local ice rink. But you need ice skates and well, the Johnson family certainly doesn’t have the money for those. But eldest Johnson child Alec gets a paper route and gives the bulk of his earnings for Harriet to rent ice skates. You know it can’t be easy for the Johnson parents to agree to this but they are in desperation mode. Harriet means just as much to her parents as her three brothers. And Alec is happy to help, he’s not being forced into his decision. Now before you die from the wholesome, who does Harriet meet on her first day at the rink? Only budding future star Lalla Moore. Do the two girls hit it off and become fast friends? Did I eat Utz Sour Cream and Onion chips for lunch yesterday (come on…of course I did!).

The two girls not only become fast friends but lonely orphan Lalla who has everything her rich uncle David’s money can buy gets absorbed into the Johnson family. The children let her join their secret society and plans to turn the shop around, mother Olivia regards Lalla as another daughter and is more than happy to try and helpful Lalla when she gets into a sticky patch. Basically, the Johnson family (except for George’s horrid older brother Uncle “Guzzle”)? Awesome.

Skating Shoes is from the Golden Age of Noel Streatfeild and hits all the classic Streatfeild tropes. Orphaned character? Lalla. Big but loving poor family? The Johnsons? Distant but actually quite awesome and reasonable father figure? Lalla’s Uncle David King. Fame hungry brittle woman who shouldn’t be a mother figure? Hello Lalla’s Aunt Claudia! Talented child getting too big for their boots? Waves to Lalla post skating exhibition. Look into a creative field? Duh…skating. Technical performer vs the popular performer? Harriet might have championships in her future. Lalla? Total Queen of the Ice Capades. Annoying, gorgeous and knows it snot of a younger sibling who needs a good smack? Come here Edward… Snippets from Noel Streatfeild’s childhood? The Johnson family estate and how they’ve declined in the world. Child planning for its future/learning a trade? Alec deciding to how turn the family shop around. Devoted servant? Nana and her everlasting knitting and Miss Goldthorpe the tutor.

Skating Shoes may not be in the first Shoe book you think of (quick! Noel Streatfeild book! you know you want to say Ballet Shoes) but it’s worth the read and you need to snap up a copy when it’s in print.

Daily Rituals

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes you just need to get away from your desk and plunge into a book. But the tricky thing? The book you’re plunging into has to be attention grabbing but not so involved that you get sucked in and have to pry yourself from a chapter and race back to your desk before the Hounds of Time Keeping swoop down on you like those awesome Ring Wraiths from Lord of the Rings. <cue Blacklight getting excited I remember anything from Tolkein and then realizing it’s because the Ring Wraiths wanted to get get get stupid little Frodo Baggins…>

So what is the reader to do? Well, Mason Currey’s Daily Rituals: How Artists Work just might fit the bill. It’s chock full of interesting facts about creatives and best of all, you can gobble up a few of the profiles and get back to your desk in plenty of time to grab a fresh cup of tea. What kind of creatives and rituals are we talking about? Hmm…for the creatives how about Twyla Tharp, Albert Einstein, the god of the Internet Nikola Tesla, my nemeses William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, Herman Melville and Charles Dickens, Uncle “Stevie” and more. And the rituals? Before you envision Stephen King and Joyce Carol Oates making sacrifices in front of their computers and then cranking out a 1000+ page novel before lunch, dial your brain back a notch. The daily rituals in question are how our creatives get their work done. Given bulk of his usual offerings it does make sense that Stephen King writes every single day without fail. And even though I’m not a fan of poetry, I have to give Wallace Stevens some love for waking up early so he could read for two hours before going to work.

For people who love to know more about the creative process or even little tidbits about the famous who deserve their fame Daily Rituals: How Artists Work is a must read. The writing it interesting enough that even if you don’t care for (or in my case loathe) a particular creative in general you’ll read the few pages devoted to them. I don’t think I can get up any earlier for work like Wallace Stevens but Daily Rituals: How Artists Work has given me greater understanding and new ideas about approaching the creative process.

Henrietta Sees It Through

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There is something about winter and especially a deep freeze that makes me put a brand spanking new Lovecraft letters collection on the the Lovecraft memorial shelf and grab a cozy British read instead. Yes, I will eventually read volume 2 of the Lovecraft/Derleth letters but right now? I’m looking at a Nestle Aero bar and trying to figure out how much of a person’s chocolate ration it is. Thoughts like this  bubble right up when you’ve read a World War II book  like Joyce Dennys’ Henrietta Sees It Through: More News from the Home Front 1942-1945. Granted, Henrietta and Charles would be much likely more interested in the state of our liquor cabinet versus my Aero bar stash. And I’m quite certain that would be the case for Henrietta old childhood friend Robert, still fighting in the war. However, since Blacklight and I only have beer, some very dry sherry, tequila and tiny flavored vodkas, they might very well be disappointed.

And sadly, Henrietta, Charles and Robert aren’t the only ones who might be disappointed. Henrietta Sees It Through: More News from the Home Front 1942-1945 collects more of Henrietta’s letters to Robert full of village life and gossip. There’s a Visitor clad in an outdated uniform who Henrietta and Mrs Savernack think must be a spy. Actually? The dear man is reduced to his old uniform as one of his few decent outfits after the twin impacts of the Blitz and his family using his clothing coupons.Henrietta deals with The Garden and her desire to do useful work for the war effort. Lady B is still her marvelous brick of wonderful, worried about elastic becoming scare (this is one dear lady who understands the value of a proper undergarment) and wanting to bash Hitler and mother Henrietta, Charles and the Linnet all at once. Faith and her long suffering Conductor marry and become parents to the delightful baby No-well (Noel) born on Christmas Day. And the War comes to an end.

But like the now empty Aero bar wrapper next to me on Mr Couch, Henrietta Sees It Through: More News from the Home Front 1942-1945 ends much too soon. Unlike the first Henrietta collection, the missing letters do leave a jarring hole in the narrative. At one point we learn the Linnet has gotten engaged and then it seems the next time we see the Linnet she is a married lady who still can’t quite believe she is married. To be very frank, I would have loved to know more about the Linnet’s wedding versus Faith and the Conductor’s wedding. Of course Faith’s wedding is perfect and lovely and wonderful. It’s Faith. She could get the Archbishop of Canterbury to give her clothing coupons for stockings. I wanted to see Henrietta, wonderful Henrietta with her flaws and gawkiness be mother of the bride versus Faith plotting to have her wedding at the church that’s most flattering to her complexion. Faith annoys me just as much as the perfection of Eden annoyed me in A Dark-Adapted Eye. I want to see more of Henrietta’s struggles to get evacuees of her very own. If the missing letters are still floating around somewhere in a back issue of the Sketch, they need to be included in any re-issue.

What I do love about Henrietta Sees It Through: More News from the Home Front 1942-1945 are the tiny glimpses we get into what life at the Home Front was truly like. Henrietta goes to get a new paintbrush and there’s just huge brushes and tiny brushes. What is the artist Henrietta to do? The revelation Henrietta is an artist (did we ever have that stated in either book?) gives new light to her tearing through her rag bag to get just the right colors to paste on the windows in the first book (has Charles ever forgiven her for using his best/favorite pajamas with the heavenly blue color?) or her helping Lady B recreate a hat seen in a local shop window using bird feathers and colored inks. And let’s not forget her quite clever make do and mend turning an old pair of pajama pants into a stylish blouse straight out a Ministry of Information pamphlet. Even little things like the tailor getting fresh measurements for Charles when he gets a new coat reminds the reader life for the British, even in a delightful and warm village like Henrietta’s, rationing’s effect on the body. Rationing didn’t starve you but it was certainly hard to maintain too much excess flesh when your monthly chocolate ration could be as low as 1 ounce per person. And yes, I devoured over a month’s chocolate ration without thinking at the beginning of this review.

Even with it’s flaws (those missing letters! Just how missing are they? <sigh>) Henrietta Sees It Through: More News from the Home Front 1942-1945 is a must read. I am ready to raid my sewing stash and hop in a time machine to make sure Lady B has all the elastic she needs for her corsets. I’ll even bring her some Flexees shape-wear. And some paintbrushes for Henrietta too! Wait…I better bring the very dry sherry for Charles (we only use the sherry to make Seafood Newburg because I didn’t realize cooking sherry existed, yes I am dim). Tins of fancy dog food for Mr Perry and Fay? Faith? Ehh…let the Conductor rustle up stockings and lippie for her. But I will bring a book for Baby No-Well. And if Jennifer Worth’s Call the Midwife books can be turned into a lovely television show, why not the Henrietta books? I would be glued to PBS for that in a heartbeat.

 

 

 

Counting My Chickens

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Out of the marvelous Mitford sisters, it’s no big secret my absolute favorite Jessica “Decca”. But Nancy? The baby sister you nicknamed “Nine” for her presumed mental age? She’s closing in on your perch as my second favorite Mitford.

Now just in case you don’t know who the Mitford sisters are (which is okay, I forgive you, not everyone’s personal book collection spans Lovecraft/King/Bloch/Jackson to Louisa May Alcott to Jacqueline Susann/Grace Metalious to the Mitford sisters) these six lovely ladies were the daughters of David Bertram Ogilvy Freeman-Mitford, 2nd Baron Redesdale and the granddaughters of Thomas Gibson Bowles (founder of The Lady and the UK Vanity Fair). Eldest sister Nancy wrote wickedly sharp novels, second sister Pamela took up the country life, third sister and family beauty Diana become a political prisoner in World War II, fourth sister Unity was entranced by Hitler and Nazi Germany, fifth sister Jessica ran away and became the infamous muckraker who made the funeral industry shake in its black boots and sixth sister Deborah aka Debo? She grew up and married a sweet young man named Andrew Cavendish and became the Duchess of Devonshire.

Along with helping turn the family seat Chatsworth House from a financial sinkhole into one of the premier stately homes to visit in the UK (all you Jane Austen fans? Chatsworth House is used as Mr Darcy’s Pemeberly in the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice), Debo has inherited the literary gene turning out charming books about her beloved Chatsworth House and memoirs. Counting My Chickens and Other Home Thoughts, is a slight book, only a 192 pages of Her Grace’s thoughts and observations of her life, family and being the mistress of Chatsworth House but what a wonderful 192 pages.

You might think a Duchess would be snotty, aloof and beyond writing a book for the masses. Maybe. But Her Grace The Dowager Duchess of Devonshire (her husband, the 11th Duke of Devonshire died in 2004) is a down to earth lady who buys her clothes at agricultural fairs and shows because they’re comfortable and wear well. She’d rather grow a lettuce by the front door than the finest rare orchid. When asked if she’d rather have tea with Elvis or Hitler, she chose Elvis. One of her favorite books of all time is Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of Ginger and Pickles.

How could you not love this lady? Counting My Chickens and Other Home Thoughts makes me want to save up my pennies, go to Chatsworth House and hope I run into Her Grace in the grounds. And you know just how very much I “love” Outside. Closing Counting My Chickens and Other Home Thoughts made me very glad I’m snapped up Wait for Me!… Memoirs of the Youngest Mitford Sister and In Tearing Haste: Letters Between Deborah Devonshire and Patrick Leigh Fermor at the Friends of the Ferguson Library Book Shop to add to my Mitford collection. Now off to see if the Central Connecticut library system has any more of Her Grace’s books!

 

 

 

Private Demons

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

There are biographies that make Blacklight scream in terror when he stumbles in the living room and finds me curled up on Mr Couch reading (i.e. Eric Myers’ Uncle Mame: The Life Of Patrick Dennis but I think it’s because Blacklight is terrified of the Patrick Dennis in the tub picture on the back cover). And then there are biographies I’ve checked out of the local library so many times that the darn book spends more time at my house then on the library shelf, the ones I would own if only they weren’t out of print and didn’t cost more than a tank of gas or a month’s groceries or even <shudder> the electric bill. Private Demons: The Life of Shirley Jackson by Judy Oppenheimer is firmly in the second category.

So what makes Private Demons: The Life of Shirley Jackson something that has me seriously wondering if Blacklight would object to me feeding him spaghetti and baked ziti for dinner for a month vs his usual boneless loin pork chops so I can buy the like new hardcover copy from Amazon? Judy Oppenheimer has done the hardest trick in the biographer’s tasks, she not only makes Shirley Jackson come to life but makes you want to visit the house with the pillars and spend an evening with the Hymans circa 1954. Anything could and did happen with Shirley. Imagine being at the Hyman’s on a night when Shirley got up from the table, went into the study, pounded out a story and then read it to the group, took the editing suggestions and had said story ready for submission by morning?

But Shirley Jackson was more than a machine for cranking out perfect tales to chill your soul or warm your heart. Oppenheimer draws back the facade that Shirley Jackson constructed through her writing to the public, friends and family to reveal the different facets making up such a creative soul. There’s the ungainly girl who never could win her mother’s approval even to her dying day. A devoted mother. A wife who almost waited on her literary critic/professor spouse hand and foot while supporting the household on her writing fees. A women who didn’t seem to care about her appearance but spends oodles of time tracking down a pair of elegant shoes. A mother who fiercely loved her children but didn’t seem to notice when they needed bath time and a good long shampoo.

Some of the very best parts of Private Demons: The Life of Shirley Jackson are when Oppenheimer steps back and allows Jackson’s children to speak about their mother. It’s interesting and very heartbreaking to know how Jackson’s older daughter felt like she was an offering to her grandmother and how the younger daughter felt pressured into being her mother’s shadow/double. Did the pressure of being Jackson’s daughter rob us of another literary light? Do Jackson’s sons feel like their mother loved them less or more than their sisters?

So if you hear Blacklight wondering why baked ziti or pancakes or scrambled eggs are on the menu every night, be assured I’ve broken down and ordered Private Demons: The Life of Shirley Jackson from Amazon or Thriftbooks. Track down Private Demons: The Life of Shirley Jackson from your library, spend some time curled up on the couch reading and you might find yourself doing the same.

 

 

 

Self-Inflicted Wounds

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

That girl crush I have on Aisha Tyler thanks to her work on Talk Soup, Archer and her brilliant stand up comedy specials? Rock solid. What is there not to love about a gal who is frank and open and owning her love of science fiction, video games and being a big old nerd? Heck, if I could hop into a time machine and set if for California circa 1983, I would be eating ice cream sandwiches with Aisha Tyler and asking her what her favorite Ray Bradbury story is. (Mine? All Summer in a Day).

So any wonder I snapped up Aisha Tyler’s Self-Inflicted Wounds: Heartwarming Tales of Epic Humiliation after work the other day and disappeared in the bedroom to devour it (along with a Toblerone) after making Blacklight his breakfast? Self-Inflicted Wounds: Heartwarming Tales of Epic Humiliation is just what the title implies, Aisha Tyler revealing the truly stupid things that she did to herself. And as her tales (from setting the apartment on fire making home-made french fries as a little kid to her early stand up days) progress you get a look at what made Aisha Tyler the awesome lady she is today. Her bad-ass but loving single father. Her strong and determined mother. Being the only (black kid, vegetarian, science fiction nerd, etc). You know some parts must have been heartbreaking to reveal or repeat (her parent’s divorce, very lean times with her single father) but you end up wanting to give her a supportive hug before suggesting a round of shots and some X-Box. (Note to Aisha: We have Goldschläger, Hotel California in the red bottle, PlayStation 2, Atari 2600, Intellivision, Sega Genesis and Sega Dreamcast…are you cool with that? 🙂

Self-Inflicted Wounds: Heartwarming Tales of Epic Humiliation isn’t for everyone (Blacklight: “She doesn’t play Atari 2600 or Minecraft? Whatever…”) but for those open to all the awesome facets of Aisha? Get your mitts on Self-Inflicted Wounds: Heartwarming Tales of Epic Humiliation ASAP!

Housewife Superstar!

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Now if my head really exploded over Monica Dickens’ My Fair Lady novelization (and it almost did but we live in Moderate Income Apartments and exploded head is really really really hard to get out of cream walls and tan carpet), I am positive Marjorie Pearsall Blackwell Cooper Bligh (it’s like something out of a soap opera isn’t it?) would have a handy tip for stain removal, an inexpensive and delicious treat to give the Hazmat clean up crew AND find a use for all those delightful rubber gloves. Martha Stewart and Amy Dacyczyn, ladies you are on notice! Bow before Queen Marjorie Pearsall Blackwell Cooper Bligh.

I don’t know how (well living in New England vs Tasmania might be a tiny factor) I reached the age of almost forty-one without encountering the housewife goddess of goddesses Marjorie Pearsall Blackwell Cooper Bligh. But I have seen the light! Thanks to my bottomless craving for books, I found myself at the Plainville Public Library book sale last week. Because my hip was hurting like a melon farmer at harvest time I took the elevator vs the stairs to the sale. And while waiting for the elevator to arrive, saw the book that is making me trawl eBay, Awesome Books, Thrift Books and Book Barn for everything Marjorie. I mean I could just break down and order copies from Amazon but a) expensive b) the thrill of the hunt and c) Marjorie of all people would understand wanting to stretch my book buying dollar right?

Shimmering like a retro beacon, a vision in mint green and clutching gaudy orange flowers, Marjorie Pearsall Blackwell Cooper Bligh beamed from the cover of Danielle Wood’s Housewife Superstar: Advice (and Much More) from a Nonagenarian Domestic Goddess. It was as if Marjorie Pearsall Blackwell Cooper Bligh knew I was weak and the worst housewife ever and would scoop up the book the second I was done with the book sale. And scoop it up I did just in cause there were retro housewife fanatics lurking in the mystery section to race out and snatch right from under my poor scratched to heck hands. (And yes, I just know Marjorie Pearsall Blackwell Cooper Bligh has a cure for that and a replacement for the expensive RX cream I should be using every day).

Danielle Wood could not have engineered a book more perfect for me because Housewife Superstar: Advice (and Much More) from a Nonagenarian Domestic Goddess hits all my “YESSSSSS” buttons. Biography. Healthy snippets from Marjorie Pearsall Blackwell Cooper Bligh’s books. Dame Edna Everage. COLOR photo section. But enough swooning right?

Marjorie Pearsall Blackwell Cooper Bligh (am copying and pasting that over and over because my poor hands) is a treasure from the island state of Tasmania (yes, where the Tasmanian Devil and Errol Flynn come from) who for over sixty years has been perfecting the art of being a housewife. She’s won endless prizes, written more books than I ever will and has a museum in her house. She’s also survived grinding poverty, an abusive first husband (Mr Blackwell), over forty year estrangement from her eldest son, the tragic death of her beloved second husband, battles with stepdaughters and poor health. But her life hasn’t been all sadness. She’s designed two houses (the 1950s Cli-mar makes me want to go to Tasmania and see it in person), given books to the Queen, is adored by Barry Humphries and in her nineties still does more in one day than I will do in my whole vacation next month.

If you trawl through the stacks at Goodwill, Savers and Salvation Army, block the aisle in the cooking/crafts/gardening section at library book sales (hands off those Time-Life Art of Sewing because they are MINE!), scour estate sales for treasures and can make your own Oxi-Clean then Housewife Superstar: Advice (and Much More) from a Nonagenarian Domestic Goddess is tailor made for you. Heck if you’ve even picked up a duster or tried one of Heloise’s hints, Housewife Superstar: Advice (and Much More) from a Nonagenarian Domestic Goddess is for you. Now time to wrap up this review and do a little housekeeping of my own.

***

Sad news…Marjorie Pearsall Blackwell Cooper Bligh died last month.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/australiaandthepacific/australia/10332641/Inspiration-for-Dame-Edna-Marjorie-Bligh-dies-aged-96.html

Coming Clean

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

I should be puttering around the apartment getting everything all tidy just in case our unit is one of the randomly selected ones for inspection on Monday. There’s stacks of books on the dining room table, some plastic crates of Blacklight’s things, the laptop cases, the iron and the tote bag of tote bags to stash in my car trunk. The bathroom could also use a clean. The clean dishes should be put away before I need to use them to make Blacklight’s breakfast. Basically, our apartment isn’t spotless but it could use some love.

But after reading Kimberly Rae Miller’s Coming Clean, a memoir of being the child of hoarding parents, my apartment doesn’t seem untidy at all. You can walk across the room without needing to block out what sort of filth and rot strata you’re stepping on. All the plumbing works. We don’t have to eat only sealed convenience food because our kitchen isn’t functional. And once Blacklight lurches into the living room, the only thing keeping him from sitting on Mr Couch will be my reluctance to give up my sprawling throw pillow nest and share the darn thing with him.

As an adult, Kimberly Rae Miller strives to be clean and tidy. Maybe she strives a bit too hard because a dear friend notices that she purges things when she’s upset. But as a child, living in houses packed so full the only working bathroom door couldn’t be shut or not having hot water was her normal. And those conditions weren’t because her parents didn’t know any better. Her father has a genius IQ and a need to collect and retain things most people would call trash. Kimberly’s mother, herself the child of hoarders, initially fights the encroaching tide of things but herself falls victim to depression and hoarding when medical issues cause her to become disabled. From early childhood onward, Kim learns to conceal the mess and paper over with a veneer of perfection. In the days before Hoarders and Hoarding: Buried Alive who would believe the straight A student with all the extracurricular activities was living in extreme conditions that forced the neighbors to complain?

Coming Clean is a slight book but man does it carry an emotional heft. There’s fear, shame, hope and trying to make a difference even when her parents can’t seem to change. You don’t know if you should stop by Home Depot for contractor size roll of huge black trash bags and industrial strength rubber gloves to help Kim rescue her parents from another mess….AGAIN…or if you should grab Kim’s phone, stomp it into bits and implore her to just let her parents rot before it ruins her life so badly that there’s no coming back. But what you should do? Read Coming Clean and give thanks to Kimberly Rae Miller for opening up and exposing the raw wounds of her childhood. If her opening up helps one person dealing with a hoarding loved one or gives them comfort that they are not alone? It’s worth it.