Lesley Truffle's Blog, page 12

To Proust or not to Proust

To Proust or not to Proust

 

‘One of the keys to happiness is a bad memory’. Rita Mae Brown

 

Memories get a bad wrap from quite a lot of folk, including Rita Mae Brown. Yet so many song lyrics dwell on memories. Love songs frequently combine memories with intense regret, and in turn these tunes provide musical backing for film soundtracks. You just can’t get away from memories.

The French writer, Marcel Proust was the first to use the term involuntary memory. In his novel Remembrance of Things Past (À la recherche du temps perdu) he revives childhood memories. He wrote about how the past can come back to us, when we smell a particular smell or we eat a food that we may not have eaten since childhood.

I was raised as an English girl and in winter this involved prickly woollen thermal undergarments and fat globs of Vick’s Vapour Rub. Much as I like gum trees, the smell of Eucalyptus oil still triggers memories of scratchy wool and inhalations of vapour rub.

It’s strange how smells can take you back to childhood and often it happens when you least expect it. For some reason the delectable aroma of vanilla essence, always provides nostalgic feelings of pleasure. But I can never remember where this memory comes from. At university I was besotted with a particular perfume that was heavy on vanilla and the orient. It was not a subtle combination and in hindsight it may well have whispered, cake shop.

Apparently, Proust – he of the madeleine cakes that triggered nostalgic childhood memories – went through several drafts of his famous novel, Remembrance of Things Past. In the first draft it was toast with honey that inspired nostalgic memories. In the second draft it changed to a biscotto and finally by the third draft he settled on a small, soft madeleine cake.

Thanks to Proust the simple madeleine became one of the most evocative and powerful metaphors in French Literature. For those who haven’t yet indulged in madeleines, they’re a simple plain cake, baked in scallop-shaped molds and lightly flavoured with lemon or almonds.

These little cakes went on to become more famous than its showier sisters, such as the overblown meringue.

According to Proust it was the quick dip in hot tea that did it, for the tisane/tea bought out the full flavour of the madeleine and released a rush of involuntary childhood memories.

As Anonymous once wrote, ‘Die with memories, not dreams.’

Photo: French actor Alain Delon who starred in the Proustian film, Un amour de Swann (Swann in Love) 1984. Delon was also terrific in Visconti’s The Leopard and Le Samouraï, where he played a preternaturally cool assassin.

by Lesley Truffle

The post To Proust or not to Proust appeared first on Lesley Truffle - Writer.

A Dog’s Life

 

A Dog’s Life

 

 

‘Draw your chair up close to the edge of the precipice and I’ll tell you a story’

                                                                             Scott Fitzgerald from The Crack-Up

 

The modern dog has one hell of a good life. With the proviso that the dog lives in a country like Australia and the owner treats them as a member of the family.

Australia apparently has one of the highest rates of pet ownership. And dogs are the number one pet. It’s been noted recently that there are more dogs in Australia than children under 15.

When I was a kid, dogs lived a very different life. For starters, the suburb I grew up in was an industrial suburb with open paddocks and unused land. And dogs were free range.

Dogs roamed around the streets unsupervised and went home when they felt like it. They had secret lives we didn’t know about. Our Corgi, Ayesha, accompanied us everywhere because we were free range children. On summer evenings when we were sent to bed early because we had visitors, it was our duty to escape. By climbing out the bedroom window.

I remember nearly breaking my neck as I lowered Ayesha down from a high window ledge. But being a smart dog she knew not to bark or whimper. Especially when we had to creep under the kitchen window. Moving quickly all fours, we could hear the adults conversing as they sucked down copious quantities of wine. We were well aware that they were busy getting crapulous and we wouldn’t be missed.

Once we were out the gate, the streets were ours. The standout summer night was when a neighbour, Pearl, chased an unknown man down our street and stabbed him with a huge kitchen knife. He survived.

The police came and the matter was treated as a misunderstanding resulting in an accident. Even Ayesha knew that was adult shite. But no charges were pressed and Pearl wasn’t arrested. I really liked Pearl, so I was terribly pleased she didn’t get thrown in the slammer.

Nobody bothered to explain to me what drove such a petite, charming, stylish young woman to wield a murder weapon in the street. But ours was a neighbourhood where domestic and street violence occurred regularly. Including my home.

Getting back to the modern dog. You only have to scroll through Instagram to see what today’s dogs have to put up with. Some are gifted Tiffany blue leather dog collars, a steal at $AU500.00 for the large dog. Or a large sterling silver Tiffany dog bowl to eat their wretched dried food out of. Yours for mere $AU4,400.

As Tiffany’s smoothly advises prospective buyers – Add a whimsical touch to your home with this bowl that any dog will love.

Dogs who aren’t cashed up have to make do with scratchy, synthetic fancy dress costumes from a megastore. Or plastic squeaky toys. Perhaps such dogs feel diminished? No doubt there’s fun to be had in waking up one’s owner, by making the toy bone squeal at five in the morning. As does a neighbour’s wicked dog.

Apparently the most popular canines are small dogs with faces that resemble infants. Pugs and other flat nosed breeds are highly prized. And these more expensive breeds tend to be dogs that are given birthday parties.

No expense is spared and the doggy party guests arrive all dressed up. Games are ignored, gifts are peed on and they dine on dog treats that have been created to resemble human food. But as can be seen online, the dog’s owners are delighted by their ‘fur babies’ antics.

There’s an ongoing debate as to whether you should feed your dog dry food. Fortunately there’s been a rise in dissident researchers, who firmly believe that fresh dog food or even frozen fresh dog food is better for dogs health.

I think it must be extremely depressing to be faced everyday with a dish of dried food. Particularly if it’s mostly kibble.

Even a large Tiffany sterling silver dog bowl – similar in price to an island holiday – can’t compensate for that.

by Lesley Truffle

Photo: the author with Ayesha – a Corgi with oversized ears, big personality and great intelligence. Ayesha had a male friend, a large, scruffy terrier called Sandy. They were inseparable. He visited Ayesha most days between nine and five. And was always made welcome.

 

The post A Dog’s Life appeared first on Lesley Truffle - Writer.

Sorrentino – The Pope Maker

 

Paolo Sorrentino – The Pope Maker

 

‘Face it, I didn’t become famous until I took my clothes off.’

‘I always wanted to be an actor and not a beauty pageant winner.’

                                                                                 Jude Law 

Jude Law plays Lenny Belardo, Pope Pious XIII in The Young Pope & The New Pope.

 

Paolo Sorrentino’s HBO series The New Pope was launched in January 2020. It follows on from The Young Pope. Jude Law plays Pope Pious XIII in both series. I won’t reveal more as it would be a spoiler for those who haven’t yet seen the series.

Sorrentino is my favourite contemporary Italian film director. I saw some of his other films early in the piece – but it was the magnificent La Grande Bellezza (The Great Beauty) that utterly beguiled me.

The opening party scene from The Great Beauty is something I watch when I’m feeling disturbed by our Trumpian times and ecological future.

It commences with an elegant woman screaming – just for the hell of it. And naturally I join in.

Towards the end of the party scene, the camera pulls back to focus on the birthday boy, the writer Jep Gambardella. Jep is played by Toni Servillo who appears in several Sorrentino films including Loro.

A group of Jep’s friends and associates celebrate Jep’s birthday with wild dancing, Mariachi musicians, cocktails, erotic dancers, and party drugs.

Watching the party scene is like having a brain clean. I pump up the volume and caper around to the music. After which I sedately sit back down at my desk and go back to whatever I was writing.

The Great Beauty party scene is spectacularly bawdy, flashy and swanky.

In a recent interview Sorrentino acknowledged his flamboyant style when discussing his film Loro,

‘In terms of the style and mise-en-scène, my focus was a certain degree of vulgarity … There is a side of mankind that is deeply attracted by vulgar things … So this was the issue. This was what I wanted to focus on—the sensuous nature of vulgarity’.

Sorrentino is known for his excessive party scenes, strange mysticism, bizarre flashbacks, dreamlike narratives, character driven plots and primal Catholic imagery. Nuns, Popes and priests are inevitably up to no good. With his khol-rimmed eyes, John Malkovich is positively sinister as the new pope. The plots are character driven. And because we get to know the characters, we invest emotionally in what happens to them.

Rome and Rome’s denizens feature in much of Sorrentino’s work. Critics frequently reference Fellini as a major influencer on Sorrentino. A powerful use of classical architecture, empty echoing spaces, dream sequences and sweeping Roman settings can be seen in both directors work.

As Fellini once did in his films, Sorrentino utilizes social change, mankind’s awkward relationship with crowded city living and political events to power the characters actions.

Sorrentino rarely follows the Hollywood tradition of the three act format. Instead he breaks up the narrative flow and intersects it with flashbacks and strange shifts in plot development. Humour is crucial to his work and it’s witty, subtle and sly. And crucially his characters drive the plot.

As Sorrentino put it, There are contemporary artists that I hate with all my heart. These are provocateurs that are without feeling. Where is the real emotion?

by Lesley Truffle

Photograph: Jude Law as Pope Pious XIII.

The post Sorrentino – The Pope Maker appeared first on Lesley Truffle - Writer.

My Friend Nigel

My Friend Nigel

 

Nigel was a street cat. I first met him in a French cafe in inner city Melbourne when he strolled out of the kitchen and slipped up onto my lap. He made me laugh. To hell with health regulations, he’d settled in for the evening. Nigel had no interest in the food on the table, he just seemed to want our company.

The owner of the café told me he’d been abandoned. His owners had moved out of Fitzroy the previous year and the cat got left behind. Gregoire had been feeding him fine French cuisine ever since. The cat was something of a gourmet and very partial to chicken breasts marinated in tarragon, wine and garlic. He visited the cafe every evening and dined sumptuously.

Gregoire told me the cat had beautiful manners. He adored the cat but couldn’t give him a home because there was already a chubby white Persian on the premises. And the two cats hated each other. The white cat was known to be something of a diva. I was there when a cat lover attempted to gently stroke the white cat – and the cat sank her fangs into the woman’s hand. Everyone was gobsmacked but Gregoire skillfully defused the situation.

Winter was closing in. Gregoire suggested I adopt the black cat and I did so after I heard he’d just been attacked in the alley by a couple of local dogs. A friend and I went down the back alley one night, found the cat and put him in my wicker picnic hamper. No panic. No distress. He just settled down for the short drive back to my apartment. We kept checking the hamper but he was preternaturally calm. Maybe he’d detected the ghosts of the delectable roast chickens that had passed through the hamper the previous summer?

At my place he leapt out of the hamper, dined elegantly and then made himself comfortable on one of my faux fur barstools. No dramas, no looking for an escape route. He sat between my friend and I and the only time he growled like a dog was when I moved off my stool to fetch more champagne.

I’d planned on keeping him inside a day or two before letting him out. I didn’t want to tag and collar him too soon in case he decided to leave and return to the alley. For eighteen months he’d relied on the kindness of strangers, and if he was wearing a collar folk would naturally assume he had a home.

But that night I realized Nigel had zero intention of going anywhere. So I let him out before he retired for the night. It was foggy and the grass was wet. I watched over him as he quickly did his business and then scuttled back to the warmth of the kitchen.

So the next day I got him sorted at the vet. Antibiotics, worming, nails, ears, the works – including an examination that involved a rubber glove and lubricant. I had to look away. His wounds were examined and teeth checked for later dental work. No problemo. Nigel eyeballed the vet’s every move but remained placid. Perhaps he knew that we were only trying to help him? He relaxed once he was back in the picnic hamper and even took a kip on the drive home.

And so began a beautiful friendship.

Photograph: Brünnhilde, 1936. American Library of Congress catalogue (free to use image).

The post My Friend Nigel appeared first on Lesley Truffle - Writer.

To Nap or Not to Nap

 

To Nap or Not to Nap

 

Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care, the death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath, balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, chief nourisher in life’s feast.’

                                                                                                            William Shakespeare

 

Shakespeare knew a lot about sleep, especially insomnia. I suspect he was often awake in the midnight hours. The Bard often alluded to the fact that sleep is crucial to our well-being. And that a peaceful nourishing sleep is essential for restoring both body and mind. For while we sleep the brain sorts out our tangled thoughts and soothes us.

Sleep and its distant cousin, insomnia, is a topic of ever increasing importance in the twenty-first century. In the past, the act of sleeping was something that aggressive executives and macho politicians derided in interviews. Usually it was a rant along the lines that sleep was for the weak willed. They themselves didn’t bother with more than three or four hours of sleep a night – and look at what they’d achieved!

About eighteen months ago, Elon Musk of Space X and Tesla’s CEO, admitted he spent 120 hours a week of his life working. This left a mere seven hours a day when he wasn’t working. But presumably he had to do other things in life apart from sleeping in his surplus seven hours.

Research about lack of sleep usually lists all kinds of health problems: memory deficiency, skin problems, increase of cancer risks and heart disease, lowered immunity, muscle atrophy and slowed down reactions leading to accidents. The list goes on.

One of the solutions for the sleep deprived is power napping. Gavin Newsham (The Telegraph, London) recently noted that Leonardo da Vinci, Winston Churchill, Benjamin Franklin, President John Kennedy and Albert Einstein were all dedicated afternoon nappers. And elite sports people such as Usain Bolt and Muhammad Ali were rumored to be partial to a kip.

Newsham briefly mentions Donald Trump being scathing about daytime naps. ‘I don’t nap!’

No comment required.

Apparently mammals in the wild sleep in short spells, while humans have learnt to sleep in just one period of the day. The only problem is there is no real consensus about the length of the short snooze. NASA pilots are encouraged to nap for 40 minutes. And some professional footballers swear by a kip for 45 minutes between training sessions.

I’m quite envious of a friend who has the ability to sleep for a mere ten to fifteen minutes and he wakes up feeling revitalized. No alarm clock required. I tend to need longer. Sometimes it’s great to take a kip, followed by a beach walk or gym session. Then I go back to writing. I think of a nap as a brain clean.

Insomnia cures can often be dodgy. Many insomniacs swear by their nightly sleeping pill, which unfortunately can create health issues. I enjoy reading about how other folk deal with insomnia as some of the cures are decidedly bizarre.

In 1904 Sir James Sawyer published, ‘Insomnia: It’s Causes and Cure.’ Apparently British writer, Charles Dickens, successfully came up with a cure for his insomnia. It’s interesting that Dickens had insomnia given that he was prone to exceedingly long walks around London, day and night. For hours. You think he’d have been worn out. But some researchers believe that creative types need more sleep than the rest of the population. Something to do with intense, prolonged, heavy-duty, thinking.

I digress. How did Charles Dickens cure his insomnia? Well, he’d get up out of his cosy, warm bed in winter and stand around getting nice and chilly. All the while while exposing his sheets and blankets to London’s cold, damp night air. Then he’d sleep like a baby.

‘Nighty night,

Sleep tight,

Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’

by Lesley Truffle

Image: ‘Sleeping Beauty’ illustration by Arthur Rackham 1920

 

 

The post To Nap or Not to Nap appeared first on Lesley Truffle - Writer.

The Amorous Goldfish

 

The Amorous Goldfish

The first theatre play that I wrote, involved a character named Alphonse. I’d been fortunate in that I’d been offered a mentorship with a professional director. The Australia Council for the Arts also offered me a rehearsed reading in a city theatre with the director, professional actors and an audience.

It was decided that the actors would perform in costume. I was delighted and promptly decided Alphonse should appear on stage too – even though he had no lines.

Alphonse was described in my character notes as a most attractive goldfish with flashing golden fins and bulbous eyes. In the play, his owner Sasha informs the audience that she regularly communicated with Alphonse. It was a meeting of minds and they communed in silence.

Sasha also claims Alphonse possessed a very wicked sense of humour. He was a committed Buddhist with a deep understanding of the ways of the world.

I should mention that the play was essentially comedic with dark underpinnings. Several of the characters were dodgy criminals and the action took place on the wild, wild West Coast of Tasmania. Most of the criminal characters operated purely on self-interest and created trouble for everyone in town.

Much later I expanded the story and it morphed into my second novel, The Scandalous Life of Sasha Torte.

It was high summer and on the day of the event it was fiendishly hot. The sort of heat that almost melts car interiors. But I was determined to find a goldfish who seemed utterly and completely Alphonse. So I drove down to my local pet store and after spending a lot of time observing the fish, selected a plump male goldfish.

He was handed to me in a plastic bag pumped up with air and secured with a thin rubber band at the top. This did not generate confidence. I panicked as Alphonse and I drove across town to the playhouse. I imagined all kinds of ghastly scenarios – the plastic bag bursting, a car crash detaining our arrival or Alphonse dying from stress or heat stroke.

Fortunately, all went well and the air conditioning at the playhouse was superb. Alphonse was quickly decanted into a cool round glass bowl for the evening’s performance. He was frisky and seemed quite the extrovert.

A friend who’d provided Alphonse’s fishbowl, tried to soothe my nerves by whispering in my ear, ‘Don’t worry, darling. Even if they absolutely hate your play, they’re going to love my fishbowl.’

I had to laugh. While we waited for the audience to be seated, John further confided that the fishbowl was a survivor from his recent divorce. He told me that the marvellous thing about glass and crystal wedding presents, is that the divorcing couple then have a cupboard of breakables on hand. And during the ongoing hostilities the fighting couple can hurl their wedding gifts around the room and thoroughly enjoy the drama.

The play started and I got the impression there was trouble looming. The lead actor got half-cut on wine both before and during her performance. At rehearsals, I’d been concerned that that she might be too controlled/self-possessed for the role.

But that night she ripped into her lines – while tossing back more wine on stage – and did brilliantly. Meantime Alphonse circled lazily in the fishbowl, eyeballing her approvingly. His performance was faultless and he hogged more than his fair share of attention.

We had a champagne party afterwards to celebrate. I was chuffed when several audience members and a professional playwright told me that they’d really loved my play. Everyone wanted to meet Alphonse and a couple of blokes – who were somewhat inebriated – lent over his bowl and had a long conversation with him.

At the end of the evening, Alphonse was transferred into a waiting jar and transported to his new home. A couple I knew had installed an upmarket fishpond in their garden. There were already several goldfish in residence – but for unknown reasons they’d failed to breed in the pond.

I heard nothing about Alphonse for weeks. Then I got a phone call from my friends – all very excited – reporting that they’d discovered several tiny new goldfish hiding in the pond reeds.

It turned out that Alphonse was an unrepentant libertine who’d wasted no time in making amorous overtures to the female goldfish and chasing them around. I couldn’t help but wonder if Alphonse’s star performance had greatly increased his self-confidence. To the point that he felt up to the task of seducing an entire fishpond of female fish.

by Lesley Truffle     

Photograph: by Benson Kua 2008 – featuring Lippy, his pet goldfish.

 

The post The Amorous Goldfish appeared first on Lesley Truffle - Writer.

Everything is F*cked

 

Everything is Fucked

 

‘Look, it may be that you came to this book looking for some sort of hope … I am sorry. I don’t have that kind of answer for you. Nobody does.’

                                            Mark Manson, Everything is F*cked A Book About Hope

 

Mark Manson’s first self-published book in 2011 was titled, Models: Attract Women Through Honesty. The book is essentially a practical self-help book for men seeking a partner. Having begun as a pick-up artist blogging about his experiences with over 100 women, Manson gravitated towards self-help for hapless males.  He provided advice as to how they could connect with women without resorting to faking and lying. Manson became a life coach for males who needed guidance on how to behave in a sincere manner in order to attract women.

Despite its screaming orange cover and witty title, Mark Manson’s 2016 book titled The Subtle Art Not Giving a Fuck, was essentially about old school values fused with traditional Buddhist concepts. How the two fused together came down to the author’s humorous take on what constitutes a life well lived.

Manson often references Buddhist concepts including the acceptance of suffering and non-attachment. And perceives our daily lives as being pedestrian, tedious, painful and dispiriting.

In his 2016 book, Manson stated that how contented we are with our lives, is directly related to the metrics/values we choose to base our actions on. So, if for example we place high value on things like pleasure, material success, always being right and staying positive – in order to deny our negative emotions – then we are quite likely to end up being thoroughly miserable.

In his follow up book published in 2019, Everything is Fucked A Book About Hope, he continues with the colloquialisms and emphasis on ‘dude’ culture. All readers are guys and dudes whether they are or not.

Manson goes further and firmly states that we all need to stop stressing out about the state of the planet. Things are better than we think – we are just incapable of seeing how good things are. As with his other books Manson is concerned primarily with the self. So he swiftly glides over significant issues such as climate change and the man-made, irreversible damage that has already occurred on our planet.

Mark Manson is now a mega successful, wealthy 35 year old self-help guru who lives in New York and he has amassed a huge following. Apparently over two million people become Manson’s followers on social media every single month.

But when Manson states that our lives are significantly and infinitely better than we think they are, my guess is that he’s not really giving too much thought to those who’ve been shoved backwards out of society. America’s Commander-in-Chief is not taken seriously by Manson. Nor are Trump’s highly questionable, divisive, dangerous, sexist and racist actions.

As Manson noted on his blog, ‘Trump isn’t that evil. He’s a bumbling narcissist who thinks life is one never-ending competition for TV ratings.’

Manson has an exceptionally loyal audience. But you only have to take a quick glance at the daily news to know that there are millions of people on the planet who have no choice but to give a fuck. And they have to give a fuck every single moment of their lives. These folk include several million refugees, those enduring extreme climate change,  and those who don’t have food or water.

At no point can it be stated that for these people that their lives are better than they think they are. Manson can afford to write off The Donald and other politicians of similar bent, simply because as a white, uber successful, self-help guru he isn’t directly being targeted for his class, skin colour, sexual preferences, low status or acute poverty.

Manson’s concerns are primarily those of a privileged white male who has reached the ‘pinnacle of success’ as valued by social media. He’s pretty much untouchable. Not all wealthy folk think like Manson. Many of them are generous philanthropists. And no doubt they too are kept awake at night worrying about the political state of the world and the destruction of planet earth. They most decidedly do give a fuck.

In a recent interview, Elon Musk – technology entrepreneur, Space X CEO, investor, and engineer – was asked what were the three things that bothered him the most. He came up with climate change, associated ecological concerns and after a long pause, quietly added that he hoped the computers ‘would be kind’.

Abraham Maslow way back in 1943 published, ‘A Theory of Human Motivation’ about how individuals most basic needs have be met before they can become motivated to achieve higher needs. These higher needs included esteem, love/belonging and self-actualization. In other words, if you don’t have basics like food, water and a roof over your head it’s highly unlikely you are going to be interested in reaching the higher levels of self-actualization.

Manson is all about self-actualization. But if your house has burnt down, your children are going hungry, you live in a war zone, you’ve been brutalized, psychologically tortured, kicked out of society and your future is nothing but a deep void, then the last thing on your mind is going to be self-actualization.

For a hell of a lot of folk, life is a serious, treacherous and possibly deadly business.

And they simply can’t afford not to give a fuck.

 

Photograph: Book cover, Everything is F*cked A Book About Hope  By Mark Manson. Published by Harper Collins 2019.

 

 

The post Everything is F*cked appeared first on Lesley Truffle - Writer.

Jack’s Story

 

Jack’s Story

Jack Charles – Aboriginal Elder, film and stage actor, potter, indigenous activist and former cat burglar – is a brilliant storyteller. His gift of writing from the heart, provided him with cachet and respect when imprisoned. He would sit down with illiterate inmates, discuss what was required and then pen deeply felt letters to the prisoner’s loved ones.

Jack’s life was derailed when he was stolen at the age of four months from his mother, Blanchie Charles, and made a ward of the state. Jack was her first baby and all  eleven of Blanchie’s babies were forcibly taken from her.

He writes in, Born Again Blakfella, that had his mother known he was, ‘subjected to repeated beatings, sexual abuse and desperate loneliness’, it probably would have destroyed her.

‘They say when a child is born, so is a mother. That so many First Nations Families, women in particular, were not afforded the basic human right of raising their own children is deplorable.’

Jack Charles has a beautiful voice: mellifluous, resonant, deep and compelling. His voice was created by his favourite teacher who provided Jack with elocution lessons. It was a gift. But at the Salvation Army Box Hill Boy’s Home he wasn’t encouraged to be academic. All Jack wanted was the same opportunities as the non-indigenous boys.

However, his teacher’s efforts paid off, ‘I was introduced to famous speeches and had a natural talent for memorising and reciting them, which held me in good stead for my future acting days … Speeches like the Gettysburg Address were moving to me … I liked the sound of them.’

Jack was imprisoned twenty-two times, mostly for his burgs –burglaries. It surprised him that Melbourne’s rich kept stashes of cash all over the house. Some houses were so financially rewarding that he revisited them.

‘There was a large double mansion I did over in Hawthorn. Actually, I did over this joint a few times, because the owners always left wads of cash in the cutlery drawer … Each time I went back, there’d be a fresh stash of cash in the cutlery drawer.’

Having learnt how to throw clay pots on a wheel and operate a drying kiln, he efficiently ran the pottery studio at Castlemaine’s prison.

‘I may have been a diminutive figure, but I ran those pottery workshops with a sense of Aboriginal law. Everybody followed my rules and respected the place as a hub of peace and creativity.’

Jack Charles is probably best known in Australia as a screen and stage actor. He appeared onstage at the Sydney Opera House with musician Archie Roach in 2017. In 2014 his powerful one-man stage show, Jack Charles vs The Crown played at the Barbican in London.

The film Bastardy introduced him to a wide audience. Bastardy is a documentary film about seven years in Jack’s life.

He admits it’s hard to watch, ‘In the doco, film maker, director and producer Amiel Courtin-Wilson captured my burgs, jail time, heroin addiction and homelessness, as well as my road to redemption.’

Bastardy opened at the International Film Festival with two premiere screenings. It was an instant success and many folk were keen to talk to Jack. An older couple approached him to tell him how they’d enjoyed the film and admired it greatly. The woman tentatively mentioned that their Camberwell house had been robbed thirty years ago. The implication being that Jack might have been the burglar, as that area had been his favourite hunting ground. Jack handled it well and all three, ‘cracked up and had a good ol’ laugh’.

Born-again Blakfella is a really powerful book and Jack Charles tells his story in a gutsy, honest manner. Parts of the autobiography are hard to read because he endured astonishing brutality and unkindness. However, everything balances out as Jack’s mischievous nature is apparent throughout the book. He tells several witty stories about how he became an accomplished, sought after actor while pursuing his bread-and-butter career as a successful cat burglar. Several times his cheeky wit and erudite turn of phrase made me laugh out loud.

by Lesley Truffle

Photo: cover of Born-again Blakfella by Jack Charles (with Namila Benson). Published by Penguin Books Australia August 2019.

The post Jack’s Story appeared first on Lesley Truffle - Writer.

She Purred Like a Tiger

She Purred Like a Tiger

In 1903 Mrs Elinor Glyn published, Three Weeks. These days the novel is considered a bizarre but fairly tame read, but back then it was the Edwardians version of Fifty Shades of Grey and sold about 2 million copies.

In the opening pages of my novel, The Scandalous Life of Sasha Torte is the quote:

Would you like to sin

With Elinor Glyn

On a tiger skin?

Or would you prefer

To err

With her

On some other fur?

                            Anonymous

Three Weeks is about a passionate three week affair between a wickedly sophisticated woman – with a dark past – and an inexperienced younger man. Purple cushions and sumptuous Tiger rugs feature quite heavily, usually with The Lady squirming around, playing guitar or posing languidly – inciting her lover to fits of passion and despairing love.

When the lady tosses a scarlet rose to Paul he wants to strangle her with love – but instead he bites the rose. Hard. There are many torrid passages and it comes as no surprise the novel later inspired much satire and ribald humor. Glyn’s prose is gloriously over the top and unintentionally humorous, ‘She purred like a tiger while she undulated like a snake.’

The photographer, Cecil Beaton, revealed that Glyn was venerated by his Harrow school chums who appreciated high camp humour.

Glyn also wrote ‘It’, a novel in 1927,  and created the concept of It to describe a person who possesses a strange magnetism that attracts both sexes – they are fascinating, mysterious and unbiddable. 

Her party trick was to pop a cherry in her mouth and bring it back out with the stalk tied into a neat bow. And despite her sensuous appearance – whitened skin, flaming red hair, kohl-rimmed eyes and black fur trimmed gowns – she swore that love interested her much more than sex.

Cecil Beaton – who photographed Mrs Glyn in glamorous soft-focus, maintained that she’d often been faced with the prospect of either becoming a prostitute or making a living writing. And she chose the pen. Glyn – who was born in Britain in 1864 – lived by her wits.

When her husband turned out to be a financially ruinous chancer, Glyn churned out a book a year and produced novellas within days – sometimes staying in bed all day in order to get the job done. Breakfast, lunch and dinner would be delivered on a tray.

She wrote forty books and several successful screen plays in America. In the 1920’s she was one of the most famous female screen writers and later she directed silent films.

Glyn scrubbed her face with cold water and a wire brush. She was an early devotee of cosmetic surgery and had her jaw surgically lifted forward and her teeth fixed in a forward position.

Cecil Beaton recalls that Charlie Chaplin had observed that when she was laughing she had trouble adjusting her lips back over her teeth. She wrote a beauty book and had a strong belief in her own psychic powers.

Glyn had many friends, a huge number of fans, was great company and remained a formidable presence until her death in 1943.

by Lesley Truffle

Photograph above (Public Domain) is a portrait of author, scriptwriter and film director Elinor Glyn.

The post She Purred Like a Tiger appeared first on Lesley Truffle - Writer.

Travelling with Casanova

 

Travelling with Casanova

 

Giacomo Girolamo Casanova was a gambler all his life. He also had numerous other careers and was known as: a soldier, a spy, a preacher, a professional writer, a violinist, a silk manufacturer, a lottery director and an alchemist.

Born April 1725 in Venice, he graduated at seventeen with a law degree from Padua University. But frequently he was so destitute that he had to gamble and he became very good at it. Casanova loved to spend, so he alternated between extreme wealth and genteel poverty.

Casanova met just about everyone who had power or reputation in 18th century Europe including: Madame de Pompadour, Voltaire, Rousseau, King George III, Louis XV, Catherine the Great and Frederick the Great.

Unfortunately, Casanova’s name has become synonymous with womanizers, man whores, philanderers and rakes everywhere. He openly admits in History of my Life, to being ‘an unrepentant libertine’.

In Casanova’s memoirs there are many times when he recalls unleashing his charm, with the sole intention of bedding a woman. I’m using the term bedding somewhat loosely, given Casanova’s ability to fornicate just about anywhere. Frequently the situations he finds himself in are comedic, but he had the ability to laugh at himself and his wicked sense of humour permeates his writing.

Casanova found lovers in every social class: servant girls, dancers, countesses, shop girls, duchesses and aristocrats in all the European courts he visited. Some of his lovers preyed on his natural generosity and ruthlessly fleeced him.

He usually accepted women as equals, made sure they were satisfied sexually and was remarkably nonjudgmental – unless his lover or mistress was stupid enough to double cross him.

But Casanova was much more than an opportunistic seducer. His intelligence, charm, wit, deviancy and many talents set him apart from his contemporaries. When he fled from his creditors in Paris in 1760, he adopted the name Chevalier de Seingalt.

Casanova revelled in the high life of Europe’s royal courts as well as having genuine friendships with those deemed to be social degenerates – actors, dancers, musicians and other creatives. As Casanova noted in his memoir, after dining with a group of actors.

‘The company … was far more likely to give pleasure than one made up of persons of quality, where gaiety freezes in the chill of etiquette.’

He was a man who lived by his wits and because he tended to speak his mind, banishment and imprisonment plagued his life. Casanova was the first prisoner to ever escape the notorious prison in Venice, The Leads. He’d been incarcerated there by the Venetian State Inquisitors for his numerous ‘sins’. The story of his escape took well over two hours in the telling and all over Europe, many were eager to hear Casanova tell his story.

Having decided early on that, ‘Marriage is the tomb of love’ Casanova never got married. Many historians have asked, was he really the cold-hearted seducer of his legend? If his memoirs are to be believed – and to date they have largely been verified –  he was an astute observer of his fellow human beings and Casanova brings his mistresses to life for the reader.

He lets us know that is his lover’s conversation, charm, beauty and character that brings him to his knees. By his own admission, this makes him their dupe. He mentions that he didn’t fancy most of London’s renowned courtesan’s because he couldn’t speak English on first visiting London. Sparkling conversation was of vital importance to him, ‘The thing is to dazzle’.

His pride frequently got him into dangerous situations. But Casanova had a wonderful sense of the ridiculous and he freely confessed his personal failings. Casanova used his sharp wit to rub his enemies up the wrong way. He was quick to draw his sword on those who’d insulted his honour. ‘Pinking’ them on the arse with his sword was his way of letting his anger be known.

Many of his business dealings are dodgy and the reader gets the impression that Casanova isn’t owning up to all the immoral things he did for money. He wasn’t above utilizing his extensive knowledge of the Cabala if it meant personal gain. The chapters dealing with his fleecing of a gullible aristocrat are deliciously wicked. And spies employed by the Venetian State Inquisition believed him to be a cardsharper.

Casanova wrote constantly: on the run, in prisons, carriages, palaces, low dives and grand hotels. It wasn’t until 1789 in retirement, at Count Waldstein’s Chateau in Bohemia, that he began writing his twelve volume memoirs.

I’ve read all twelve volumes and my personal preference is for Williard R. Trask’s translation.  Casanova was an intellectual and an 18th century Enlightenment polymath, his expertise spanned a phenomenal number of subjects. But it’s Casanova’s wit, intelligence, humour, cunning and humanity that keep me coming back.

His tales of life in eighteenth century are totally engrossing. There’s nothing finer than uncorking a bottle of champagne, sitting back and recklessly travelling in a carriage across Europe with Giacomo Girolamo Casanova.

by  Lesley Truffle

Photograph: Detail from an illustration by Umberto Brunelleschi from a 1950 edition of, Memories of Giacomo Casanova de Seingalt. Brunelleschi (1879 -1949) was an Italian printer, book illustrator, caricaturist, set and costume designer. He was educated at the Accademia delle Belle Arti in Florence and moved to Paris in 1900.

The post Travelling with Casanova appeared first on Lesley Truffle - Writer.