Today I get to stay home
with my reading, writing and my thoughts. I just had the perfect Sunday lunch,
a poppy seed bagel (though it’s a day old), some Edam cheese and
fresh leafy salad with wild rocket (Arugula) , olives and
cherry tomatoes thrown in. At a dinner party last month, I was telling an
acquaintance who hailed from Normandy where he could get Normandy butter locally, he said the best French butter was this soft organic butter that he could not recall the brand and would text me later so he did two days later. I managed to pick up a bar of ‘Le Gall Cru Moule Doux’from a grocer
on Friday evening. Indeed this particular brand of French butter tastes heavenly.
I’m re-reading The Cost of Living by Deborah Levy
.Whenever I stumble on some writings or books that I feel friends who read might enjoy, I have to curb the impulse of getting additional copies as gifts. Not
only the gesture is neither economical nor prudent, but my intention might end up
weighing on another reader or bibliophile’s conscience to read when he or she has
already had a long reading list and books that they cannot wait to devour with
relish. As I have taken to reading several
books at any given time, inevitably some books get a false start and I have to
resume from the beginning while others may take some time to reach the
finishing line. Nonetheless,though I do not believe in multitasking, I still
believe in reading multiple books at any given time.
As I mentioned in my
earlier posts that I had enjoyed Levy’s writings and apart from
reading Hot Milk click and Swimming Home click my subsequent
reads were by her as well. The Cost of Living is the second installment
of Levy’s living autobiography on
writing and womanhood. As she approaches fifty years of age, she is a mother of
two teenage daughters and has to reinvent her life after her divorce from a man
whom she has shared a life together for two decades. During the same period,
she is also dealing with the bereavement of losing her mother. Her
introspections are unassuming and relatable. She is able to present the past alongside
the presence without using any flashback and her prose is impeccable. Her essays
read like scenes from a play or a black and white film.
‘ To separate from
love is to live a risk-free life. What’s the point of that sort of life?’ Levy
muses. She writes,
‘To live without love is a waste of time .
I was living in the Republic of Writing and Children. I was not Simone de
Beauvoir after all. No, I had got off the train at a different stop (marriage)
and stepped on to a different platform ( children). She was my muse but I was
certainly not hers.
All the
same we had both bought a ticket (earned with our own money ) for the same
train. The destination was to head towards a freer life. That is a vague
destination, no one knows what it looks like when we get there. It is a journey
without end, but I did not know that then. I was just on my way.’
In my
twenties, I read Simone de Beauvoir when
I was supposed to reading cases and law
texts. Despite her enduring love and commitment
for Sartre, Simone de
Beauvoir resolved never to marry him and
make a home with Jean-Paul Sartre as ‘she
knew she never wanted children or to serve his breakfast or run his errands or
pretend she was not intellectually engaged with the world to make herself more
loveable to him.’
What Simone
de Beauvoir did in the 1950s was indeed very radical then.
Here are some other snippets
from Deborah Levy’s memoir under the chapter entitled “ The Black and Bluish
Darkness”
“ Actually , I had no
idea what serenity felt like. Serenity is supposed to be one of the main
characters in old-fashioned femininity’s cultural personality. She is serene
and she endures. Yes, she is so talented at enduring and suffering they might
even be the main characters in her story.
It was
possible that femininity, as I had been taught it , had come to an end.
Femininity, as a cultural personality, was no longer expressive for me. It was
obvious that femininity, as written by men and performed by women, was the
exhausted phantom that still haunted the early twenty-first century. What would
it cost to step out of character and stop the story?’ “ The phantom of
femininity is an illusion, a delusion, a societal hallucination. She is a very
tricky character to play and it is a role (sacrifice, endurance, cheerful
suffering ) that has made some women go mad. This was not a story I wanted to
hear all over again.
It was
time to find new main characters with other talents.
She also
writes,
“ And
what could I say to my daughters? ‘Um, I’m not like those mothers who lived
through you, no no, not at all.’
In The
Cost of Living, Deborah Levy muses about female autonomy and societal roles.
Her memoir is about writing and what it is to be a woman. Her contemplations are
insightful, clever and infused with humour and warmth.
No comments:
Post a Comment