Why do I re-read books

One of my blogging friends Ramana publishes once a week a post written on the subject nominated by one of the members of his blogging group. I always liked the concept even if it felt a bit like a homework. My excessively independent nature issued some protest against writing a homework. Only, nobody asked me for any such thing as a writing assignment ☹.  So, I did not have a problem to avoid.

In my previous post I was searching for ideas what to write about as my activities slowed down and ideas dried out. And I got a suggestion that I find interesting – to write about re-reading the same book, seeing the same films multiple times and listening to the same piece of music over and over again. The suggestion came from a person who I find a sharp and rather tough critic. So, I will be writing with some trepidation but also with curiosity and interest concerning comments I may receive at the end of this exercise. Thank you kvd for the suggesting the subject.

Re-reding books.

There are many  reasons why I read. Sometimes for fun, sometimes in hope that I might find answers to my existential questions, sometimes to learn something specific…Many reasons really.

My list of books I would like to read has always been very long and still is, so it seems to be a waste of time to read something that I already have read. But it did happen to me, even if not that often. When I think about the reasons for re-reading books, one very clear reason comes to  mind - re-reding for fun. There was a time when I was fascinated by the Polish writer – Joanna Chmielewska.  She wrote fun crime stories and her sense of humour had to me a particular allure. Many Poles felt the same way and her books disappeared from shops like hot cakes. In fact, books disappeared from bookshops in hours if it was a popular book, writer or a subject. Things have changed since those times. I remember when I just got the new book by Joanna Chmielewska. The book was about a crime committed in one of the Danish casinos. The title was - “The last sentence of the dead man”. The last sentence of this man was giving information where a big fortune of a gang was hidden. The Polish girl was the person who heard the last instructions. The dying man who was a part of the gang told her the secret information because of her blond wig.  He was instructed to pass the information to a blond girl. After being shot and saying his que, he promptly died leaving the critical information with the wrong person. The whole book is about the gang protecting the valuable source of information (the false blond girl), after kidnapping her from the casino and transporting on a private jet to somewhere in South America. At the same time the most convincing and handsome members of the gang tried to get the girl to recall the last sentence of the dead man which she denies to remember. The story is unbelievable but at the same time very logically unfolded to the readers. I imagine that it is very difficult to comprehend that, but this is a very clever book and very funny in its logical way. Starting to read it I was not able to put it away and was reading it without a break until I finished it at some early hours of the next day. I have many books of the same author and they all look very shabby by comparison to other of my books on the shelves. Typically, my books after reading look like new regardless how many pages they may have. Not Chmielewska. The books of the times - 60ties – 70ties were not the most robustly published but the reason for my books being shabby was that I and my friends read them several times.

                                              

I looked up Chmilelewska in Wikipedia and found out more about her than I had expected. She became widely published when the communism was over and became some sort of a national celebrity.

I got carried away with memories and went away from the initial subject of re-reading books.

It was the time when I spent some years in Poland after my Australian working years. It was like coming back to the old country, the one I even did not know well and understood rather poorly. So much has changed. I had a lot of time on my hands and a lot of books on the shelves of the place I lived in. Good old classics. It was a good opportunity to re-read some of them. So, The Magic Mountain of Thomas Mann landed up on my reading table but I did not go too far with it. It seems to be a cursed book for me. Something happens that makes me put the book away for long period of time. But I have read in this time The War and Peace the second time. I think it made a similar impression on me as my first reading when I was around twenty years old. Maybe I responded less romantically to Natasha Rostova’s love for Andrei Bolkonsky? Maybe this part of the book is better received by young impressionable girls? Anyhow, I liked the book the second time around as well but there were no fireworks. I was more impressed by Herman Hesse I read at this time and for the first time.

I think I stop this post as I am starting to feel boredom myself so this is definitely not a good sign. Maybe watching films multiple times will open some better paths for observations.

After some reflection I realised that I got sidetracked but did not finish the subject of re-reading books. I read books again and again also for comfort. It has been most of the time - Anne of Green Gables. Which part of the novel it did not matter. There are several parts of the Anne's story. My age did not matter either. Even now I took to the hospital with me Little Women. Not quite the same thing but the same type of book. About girls basically good to the core even if with some flows of character. But good, you could rely on good winning no matter what the situation and how long it took to see the real good side of it and the characters who may have strayed for a while. So when I needed to be reassured that life is really good and my problems will come right at the end, Anne of Green Gables did the job. 

Aix-en-Provence

                                     

There was another book I reread several times. Once again it was a book about school girls. But not very good girls this time. It is a series of Claudine books written by Colette. A scandalous writer married to an older man, flirtatious no matter  if objects of the flirt were women or men. Most likely women though. I do not feel that I would like to explore all the reasons why I was so fascinated by the books. Language was one of the attractions, Provence another strong reason. She wrote about the district of France with such love and admiration of its foods, smells, colours that it was impossible not to fall in love with Provence even without seeing it. And when I eventually saw it there were no disappointments. Calissons and coffee at one of the street cafes of Aix-en-Provence and fragrance of lavender  in the air were something I will always remember and marvel over.

This little sweet deserves a special poem, but since I could not write such a thing, I feel that it deserves a post at least. I would like to write it.

Love patterns

While I tidy up things in my home or cook, I like to listen to the radio. In my case this is often not listening to a radio but to podcasts. For a long time, there were Polish political podcasts, but they became less and less interesting as the time went by. What is happening in Poland now is so tragic that in self-defense I do not listen to it much. The country is being more and more destroyed with each new “good change” introduced by the government. The people are not interested in their future but happy with little perks they get from time to time. Just like lemmings or the proverbial frog that is getting cooked not noticing gradual increase of the water temperature.  The journalists who I liked to listen to in the past irritate me more and more. They must be feeling powerless as they just complain, interrupt the people they interview and repeat themselves. They really don’t have much power to change the situation, but in my opinion, they make it worse. OK, I feel a little better getting my complains out of the system.

So, yesterday as I was washing up, I was listening to a podcast from the Sydney Writers Festival instead. Aciman, one of my favourite writers, was talking about his book Enigma Variation. This time I am not going to write about any book, but about love patterns, books and writing. Seems there is no escape from books for me. And now I know why.

Aciman said that our first crush determines how we will be in love for the rest of our lives. We will desire the same way as it was the first time and there is no escape from it. He says such a life sentence is beautiful but I wonder?

When I heard it, I started to think if this was true for me and I had serious doubts about it. I could not remember anything interesting about boys at school. Then my thoughts went into my preadolescent times and to my surprise, I found my first fascination with another person. Was it a crush? Maybe, but I was too innocent for realizing that at the time. I still would not call it a crush. I was maybe seven or maybe younger when it all started? She was older. And again, I do not remember how old she was but she was old enough to read serious books and she was good at telling the stories to me. I was in owe with her and I wanted very much to be her friend and to be taught by her about life and perhaps about love most of all. We met at a summer holidays I spent at my grandparents. She was a girl from Warsaw and that was very impressive. Tenia, this was her name, stayed during school holidays with the neighbours of my grandparents. She was much older than me but I do not think she was older than fifteen when we first met. She was a keen reader and her choice of books was rather advanced. I particularly remember her telling me the whole story of An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser. I never read the book myself but I still remember the plot as she told me. It was about a couple of young people. The man was weak and manipulative and the girl naïve and trusting. She got pregnant but the young man did not have any plans to marry her. During seemingly romantic rowing escapade the boat turned over, the girl could not swim, the man did not help her so she drowned and the court case followed. What I find amazing is that I still remember the story, the title and the author. Maybe we were older than I recall? I know that I did not understand much of what it meant being pregnant, so I was putting the story together over time as my knowledge gradually increased. I remember that she told me other stories that were love stories with actions I did not understand. We met during a number of summer holidays and I was always wondering if she is going to come the following year. Of course, I was hoping we will meet again and she will be telling me more stories during our long walks among the wheat fields or in the pine woods that were not that far from our respective homes. The wheat fields started just behind the fence of my grandparents' garden. Those were idyllic times and idyllic walks. I never thought about myself as having a crush on Tenia, but perhaps it was just that. When I recollect the times now the sweet feeling of nostalgia overwhelms me.

                              

So, if I use this relationship as the pattern for my future loves they would need to follow the pattern of me looking up to the men I loved and I needing to learn from them. And that is how it always was for me except for my first boyfriend. This is a subject which I would like to explore later. Maybe I will post it or maybe it will become too close and personal.

My conclusion is that in my case Aciman’s claim that our first crush determines how we will be in love for the rest of our lives and how we will desire the first time will determine all our future desires has been  very true.

Aciman and Guadanino linger on

I said that I have overdosed on Aciman and now I have another proof that I must have done. This post will be written under the influence. No, not under the influence of alcohol but one phrase that came from the direction of Aciman and the film of Guadanino. Love that is a Memory or should it be rather Love that is the Memory. My doubt is not so much about the correct use of “a” and “the” even if prepositions were always my problem, but about stressing that it is a true love I want to talk about.

At some stage, each of our loves becomes a memory. It struck me that the love is still there but in a different form. It is a Memory rather than a story. And it depends on us what we do with it. What meaning we will give it. The important thing is that it still is there, did not get lost just changed its form as anything else changes. I like the thought, find that this way I can preserve something which is in the past but is still with me and in me. I have not lost it.

I think I leave it at that. Just wanted to record a fleeting thought that seems important.

Strawberries, memories and regrets

In current times strawberries and generally berries are considered to be super food. I have been always a bit careful about what I eat and, I must confess, even worried about my health. Perhaps overly so, but with my Polish background this is normal. An average Pole is very much preoccupied with health and diet. I even heard that Poles like to be sick. Being sick gives a certain amount of self-importance and commands attention of others. But I have digressed and the simple point I am trying to make is that I eat strawberries every day as I consider them good for me. When at home, I eat Australian type of strawberries, the berries  I looked down at some years. I even did not eat them for a long time considering them inferior to the strawberries I was used to in Europe. With time my memories of old fashioned European type of strawberries faded and the Australian strawberries improved its taste and prices, so now I eat them every day with my breakfast. The strawberries here are big, read and firm. From time to time, they even have pleasant taste. They last few days in my fridge and much longer in the fridge of the local fruit market and prior to that at the growers’ fridges. I wonder how many days pass from the time the strawberries are picked to the time they land up on my plate. 

Often, the memories of old days come to me together with the memories of fragrance of old fashioned strawberries my father used to grow. He came from the family of farmers and always had a farmer sole in him even if he led an urban life of a business person. As his business became successful he was able to indulge in a hobby farm near the industries town we lived in. He started an orchard which with time became a show case for the university of agriculture. The famous professor and his students used to come and visit my father’s orchard as it was considered to be a model and example for modern cultivation of apples.  

My father was a very pragmatic person and considered a waste of opportunities to be sinful. He had this orchard and as the apple trees were taking their time to become productive he considered it a good idea to plant strawberries under the trees. As I recall, in  the first years potatoes were planted and strawberries followed as my father’s knowledge of horticulture improved. My parents had a business to run so there was little time to dedicate to the farm activities, especially that my mother did not support my father enthusiasm for growing things. I was a child of urban tastes with reading being my favourite pastime, but taken to the farm I would partake in activities of the moment. I remember one day of potato-lifting time. It was September or October and the air was cool and fresh. The hired people were working on the field and after a while of observing the activities I joined in. As I was only a child my work had to be light, but father looked very proud observing me lifting the potatoes from the black fragrant soil. I will always remember the time and the smell of the air and the soil. I enjoyed what I was doing and it gave me the feeling of accomplishment, but I did not understand then how magical the time actually was.   

In those times agriculture was based on the rhythm of the seasons. Strawberries were ready for picking late June and early July. This is the time in Europe when the school year finishes and it is time to go away for summer holiday. My family could not do it, this was the strawberry season and one had to take advantage of it. This was however only my father’s view, the rest of the family did not share his love of farming and I even felt deprived of rightful pleasures available to my school friends. 

                                   

During the day my parents worked in their business, but come afternoon, my father sneaked out to go to his garden farm to pick a couple of baskets of strawberries for his family. He would proudly put them on the table in front of us and we would reluctantly pick at some the most beautiful strawberries I have even tasted. Only I did not know then that the fruit in front of me was so very special. I was upset that I had to stay at home when some of my friends were at the seashore. And I did not realise that my father was a very special man. The man of passion and wisdom, perseverance, courage and many talents. I did not understand so many things then... He was lonely in his passions; the family did not want to share his dreams. This must have been difficult and discouraging, but he was not to be stopped even if unappreciated by us. I am relieved to know that he was greatly appreciated by the agriculture authorities of Poland, but saddened that this is only now that realise those things.

This was the man who considered my father an authority on growing apples. This man even has a monument. How blind I was not to see my father achievements...

I know now that my father was a great role model and I must have learned from him some things by osmosis, and I am grateful to him for that.  I feel  sad, however,  that I never told him  about my respect and admiration. I understood things too late.

Place where a lot has happened

Some time ago, I have been told that I concentrate too much on the past rather than living in the NOW. I got a bit defensive about it, but on reflection I think I may have misunderstood the message and intentions of the person who commented on my posts. This time I must admit that the past is flooding my thoughts and feelings.  It restricted my actions and it is time that I do something about it. The Tri-City of Gdansk, Sopot and Gdynia causes excessive reflections. So much has happened in this place not only for the Polish modern history but also for me personally. I decided that writing I about it may help to get it out and forget. Here it goes…

I have not considered Gdansk to be my home town until quite recently it has started to change. Before I left Poland for living in other countries, I considered myself to be a Warsaw girl. I lived in Warsaw for about 15 years and felt at home there. I only visited the area around Gdansk from time to time. Almost each visit, however, triggered off some important change in my life. I have not realised that until quite recently, but the pattern is very clear.

It was not far from Gdansk that I fell in love for the first time. They are nice and tender memories confused a bit by the fact that it was me who left the relationship and not for a good reason. I simply grew out of it. Maybe this is a good reason enough? The object of my reminiscing lives in Gdansk now. When I pass his place of business, and I do sometimes, I cannot stop the memories to come back.

Yesterday, I walked from Sopot along the beach towards Gdansk. And again, I passed the place where my life took one of those critical turns. There, I met my future husband during one summer holiday. It was also the time where I said good bye to my first love. It was confusing and created a sense of guilt in me. It was quite an appropriate feeling for I was still a catholic girl and a Polish one to it. Guilt is speciality of Poles and a Catholicism is based on it.  So, I felt bad, but my life at the same time moved in the new exciting direction and the bliss of the first grownup love followed.

There is another place in the Long Market in the Old Town of Gdansk, where I learnt computing languages and this made me a programmer and started my IT career lasting many, many years. It was the start to my successful professional life. It is difficult not to pass the place where I studied those languages when I stroll in the Old Town and then it is difficult not to think about the times passed. Actually, it was more that studying involved there. 

There are two facades but the buildings are internally joined 

                                               

The room now looks very much the same as I remember it

After some years, life took me away from Poland and Australia became my new home. But before I moved there, me and the new man in my life spent part of our honey moon in Sopot staying in the Grand Hotel. It was a grand place, as the name indicates, but it was a tired grandness, only a memory of grand times. The communistic rulers did not approve of excesses in comfort and elegance, so the place was badly kept. It still meant a lot to me to be there. We had a room with a view. It was not a grand room, definitely not a honey moon suit, but the windows opened towards the sea. I thought it was fantastic.  I remember opening the window and inhaling the smell, the smell of sea I always found wonderful.

During my years in Australia I have not though about Gdansk at all and very little really about Poland. Of course, I knew about Solidarity and Walesa. It was Gdansk again…

After years my life went through another turn and I found myself on holidays in Gdansk. A single person again. With the help of my dear friend I reacquainted my old admirer. We went through a period of mutual infatuation and since we both were single it seemed sensible to plan our autumn years together. That is how I came to live in Gdansk. We shared the memories of our young years, love for literature and inclination to philosophising. We both loved under-cooked vegetables which is rather uncommon in Poland. That seemed enough to enter another relationship.  It was not that idyllic as I had imagined, but there are beautiful memories that come to me very often when I am in Gdansk. There is a lot of melancholy around it as the man has passed away.

There are a lot of good, happy feelings as well as I love my life style when in Poland. I also find my Gdansk place very comfortable and beautiful. I hope I will be able to return here for many more years. If I would be asked now what my Polish home town is , I would definitely answer – GDANSK!

Little Pains of Attachment

As we go through life, we get attached to people, animals, places and things. Those are happy times when we have them in our lives. When we lose them, we experience sadness and the feeling of longing appears. I sometimes wonder if it is worth to allow myself attachments while I know that they are most of the times transient. The answer is hesitantly positive.

The thing is that attachments creep up on you, you really, do not make decisions in this matter. At least not from the start. But later on, an attachment can be reviewed and one can create an emotional distance to it or continue to build it up to its potential when you can be hurt by the disappearing link.

                                               

                                                 

In my life, I experienced many departures of people, I left behind many places I loved, many of my belongings are no longer mine, three of my best doggy friends passed on. This was associated with pain, at times even an excruciating pain.  Still, this means that I loved and it was worth the risk of future pain. What is happening now does not call for such a dramatic introduction, but I got surprised by the sadden feeling of emptiness and a  little sadness after my neighbours moved out and left for Melbourne. They were ideal neighbours, young, helpful, friendly and inspirational. Both of them interesting people in many ways. And there were also two cats Snow and Indy, they liked to visit my garden and I liked to watch them frolicking around. I knew that they were all going to move out one day and I did not think that there was anything sad about it.

Yesterday was their last day in the place and when I was coming home from my bridge session, the orange car belonging to them was no longer in front of the house. The sadness and sense of loss hit me unexpectedly.  This was not a pleasant feeling and I did not want to experience it at all. So I went on with my normal occupations, but some negative feeling lingered through the evening. This morning working on my computer at the desk overlooking the garden, I subconsciously expected to see Indy or Snow climbing the fences around the garden. And I realised that they are not in their old home anymore and they will not pay me a visit. Sadness again. Even now when the branches of the trees around move and the lighting changes I automatically lift up my gaze expecting to see a cat or two.

Another departure I will live with retaining nice memories and planning a visit in Melbourne where I will have two lots of friends from now on. The sadness will pass, especially that I will be leaving myself for Poland in few days. 

Adagio

 

I just saw Manchester by the Sea. It is a very good film and the film that moved me for several reasons, some of them rather personal. When a book or a film throws new light on my personal  life and helps me to understand myself and my past better, it has a special value for me. Manchester by the Sea is such a film for people who lived through a trauma. And who has not?

It starts with several scenes seemingly without a point and with rather simplistic dialog. This part lasts  irritatingly long and one wonders what it is all about. I must say that after seeing the whole film I realised that the structure of the film is genial and it needed the first, on reflection, not so boring part.

The film is about Lee who had been a loving uncle to his  nephew, sixteen years old Patrick, and suddenly, after death of his brother, becomes the guardian of the boy. He cannot deal with the new responsibility and we do not understand why. The scenes from the past show a different person, Lee was at that time. Playful, loving husband and the father of three children changed into a solitary man who does not smile, works in a menial job, is aloof to the point of appearing rude. Two different people.

 The film unfolds the story and leads to an extremely tragic event in the lives of Lee and his wife. The background music of  the scene showing the tragedy is Adagio by Albinoni. This music has been used as a background in many films and there was a time I considered it as expressing deep love and emotions related to it. At that time I did not notice profound sadness of the music. To me it was just showing elation that romantic love brings. I felt that it expressed my feelings of the time very well. It  is clear to me now how extreme happiness and extreme tragedy are close to one another. This sadness and tenderness of love are expressed in the Adagio so movingly.  When I and the man of my life chose Adagio as “our song” I did not associate it with sadness at all, such discoveries came later. With time, I noticed that it was used as background to many documentaries dealing with concentration camps. I did not like this associations, how could I? With time, however, I started to hear the other tones in my favourite Adagio. Tenderness and compassion that comes with tragedies are there as well. Sadness and acceptance of unavoidable. Dignity and inner quietness are there as well. Unbelievable piece of music.  I could say AMAZING if the word was not so frequently used in My Kitchen Rules.

I needed to break out from being totally in an Adagio mood and life recollections to return to reality, hence the comment on MKR which helped, but is obviously out of context . Sorry...

Now that my love story is over and trauma of its end is behind me, Adagio can be my music again. A bit sad, but still beautiful. Like life.

So this is what the film is all about. About trauma and the way of dealing with it or not being able to deal with it. Lee is not able to. But his wife does and she moves on. This role is played brilliantly by Michelle Williams. The scene when Lee and his wife meet coincidently after some years will become a movie classic, I believe. One of the most moving scenes of any film I have seen. True to life as well.

Michelle Williams had her share of trauma in her privet life. The relationship with Heath Ledger finished before his death, but even so the final closure was very difficult for the famous actress. Has it helped her to play the scene so extremely well?  I believe that life experiences make us wiser and better understanding human nature.

Great film, but perhaps not uplifting your mood. 10 out of 10 for me. 

Affleck brothers are people to watch and follow. They both already have great achievements to their names.