Unlocking the library door
This will be an untidy parcel of a post, like a bundle sent to a kid at college with all the unpackable oddments she'd left behind, and a tin of cookies to share, and new trinkets.
The title was inspired by this passage from Sylvia Townsend Warner's letters, which came into my head today, and had to be hunted down.
To George Plank 7:iv:1961
"You have the nicest hand with a parcel. I can’t think of anyone to match you in parcelling except perhaps Henry Tilney, to whom I attribute all the graces. Mr Knightley’s parcels would never come undone, true; but think of all the paper & string involved. Elinor had to do up all Edward’s: Edward required a good deal of buttoning and unbuttoning, though she enjoyed his dependence on her: the butler did all Marianne’s & Colonel Brandon’s. Mr Darcy did exactly three parcels a year, for Lizzy’s birthday, for New Year’s day, & for their wedding anniversary. The product was excellent, but he took hours to achieve it. And locked the library door."
That was a splendid Boskone! Zoom actually worked, mostly smoothly, though three of us panelists—me, Brother Guy Consolmagno, and Brenda Clough—were nearly locked out of virtual room in the very last hour of the con. Fortunately, we did squeak in, and had a fabulous talk with Faye Ringel on the "Medieval Milieu." Every age knows that it's modern times, love it or loathe it. I recalled my favorite howler from a medieval-ish fantasy: their sacramental noonday meal was called "midden." What in hell was their editor smoking? My conversation with Michael Swanwick on "The Lonely and the Rum" was a joy, an exhilaration like dancing on the high wire with a tea tray on my head, and not falling off. "Inventing New Folklore" was a lower-key pleasure. I told Ronald Hutton's story about a folklorist upbraiding the Teaser in the Padstow Oss procession: he wasn't performing as her theory of the ritual ordained, so he was Doing It All Wrong. That's a high cultural crime. The cool thing about invented myth and folklore is that the author's mad theories are true for that world. If you like, The White Goddess can be their physics textbook.
There were many lively, even brilliant, panels, and with no divertissements like hallway chats, the dealers' room, or the art show, I listened in to something just about every hour of the con, sometimes jigsaw-puzzling as I listened. Nice to be able to get tea for myself whenever I liked. Wonderful to see people from all over the world: Gill Pollack from Canberra, Aliette de Bodard from Paris. She led a lovely meet for fountain-pen aficionados. E. C. Ambrose gave an excellent talk on the history of astronomical devices, from prehistory to Galileo, from all over the globe. The panels are still up for members of the con to stream, and I immediately went and heard Faye Ringel's talk on New England vampires that was scheduled opposite my Swanwick conversation. I am so enjoying the luxury of seeing all that I missed, at my leisure. A con without those difficult choices—if I go to X, I'll be missing Y—has been an unexpected perk.
A dozen of my classmates from my college dorm met this afternoon, from as far away as Abu Dhabi. Women from the Seven Sisters rock! This is the class that chose Shirley Chisholm as our commencement speaker. This is a school that believes in service. Out of that small group, one is a middle-grades social-studies and science teacher, doing both virtual and live classes; one has spent a lifetime working for Native American peoples as a clinical psychologist and policy maker; one is an Episcopal priest deeply involved in social justice (she worked with one of the earliest AIDS ministries); one is an ACLU lawyer under serious threat; and one NP came out of retirement, and has given so many hundreds of vaccinations this month that her thumbs are bandaged. Just a nice bunch of women.
Afterward, I took a walk in the snow and sun. Raven Books was all but empty when I passed by this afternoon (there's often a queue, so I window-gaze wistfully), so I stuck my doubly masked face in, and at once spotted a copy of Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic & Religion. Snapped that one up like a duck on a junebug.
Oh la la! Just look at this new Liberty puzzle, a Story Map of France. Fabulous whimsies!
Of course, it debuted a week after my number came up, so it had to go on my impossibly long wishlist. What sang to me this time was Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose. Much as I love winter, that day my boots were wet through, and I wanted a secret garden.
Nine
The title was inspired by this passage from Sylvia Townsend Warner's letters, which came into my head today, and had to be hunted down.
To George Plank 7:iv:1961
"You have the nicest hand with a parcel. I can’t think of anyone to match you in parcelling except perhaps Henry Tilney, to whom I attribute all the graces. Mr Knightley’s parcels would never come undone, true; but think of all the paper & string involved. Elinor had to do up all Edward’s: Edward required a good deal of buttoning and unbuttoning, though she enjoyed his dependence on her: the butler did all Marianne’s & Colonel Brandon’s. Mr Darcy did exactly three parcels a year, for Lizzy’s birthday, for New Year’s day, & for their wedding anniversary. The product was excellent, but he took hours to achieve it. And locked the library door."
That was a splendid Boskone! Zoom actually worked, mostly smoothly, though three of us panelists—me, Brother Guy Consolmagno, and Brenda Clough—were nearly locked out of virtual room in the very last hour of the con. Fortunately, we did squeak in, and had a fabulous talk with Faye Ringel on the "Medieval Milieu." Every age knows that it's modern times, love it or loathe it. I recalled my favorite howler from a medieval-ish fantasy: their sacramental noonday meal was called "midden." What in hell was their editor smoking? My conversation with Michael Swanwick on "The Lonely and the Rum" was a joy, an exhilaration like dancing on the high wire with a tea tray on my head, and not falling off. "Inventing New Folklore" was a lower-key pleasure. I told Ronald Hutton's story about a folklorist upbraiding the Teaser in the Padstow Oss procession: he wasn't performing as her theory of the ritual ordained, so he was Doing It All Wrong. That's a high cultural crime. The cool thing about invented myth and folklore is that the author's mad theories are true for that world. If you like, The White Goddess can be their physics textbook.
There were many lively, even brilliant, panels, and with no divertissements like hallway chats, the dealers' room, or the art show, I listened in to something just about every hour of the con, sometimes jigsaw-puzzling as I listened. Nice to be able to get tea for myself whenever I liked. Wonderful to see people from all over the world: Gill Pollack from Canberra, Aliette de Bodard from Paris. She led a lovely meet for fountain-pen aficionados. E. C. Ambrose gave an excellent talk on the history of astronomical devices, from prehistory to Galileo, from all over the globe. The panels are still up for members of the con to stream, and I immediately went and heard Faye Ringel's talk on New England vampires that was scheduled opposite my Swanwick conversation. I am so enjoying the luxury of seeing all that I missed, at my leisure. A con without those difficult choices—if I go to X, I'll be missing Y—has been an unexpected perk.
A dozen of my classmates from my college dorm met this afternoon, from as far away as Abu Dhabi. Women from the Seven Sisters rock! This is the class that chose Shirley Chisholm as our commencement speaker. This is a school that believes in service. Out of that small group, one is a middle-grades social-studies and science teacher, doing both virtual and live classes; one has spent a lifetime working for Native American peoples as a clinical psychologist and policy maker; one is an Episcopal priest deeply involved in social justice (she worked with one of the earliest AIDS ministries); one is an ACLU lawyer under serious threat; and one NP came out of retirement, and has given so many hundreds of vaccinations this month that her thumbs are bandaged. Just a nice bunch of women.
Afterward, I took a walk in the snow and sun. Raven Books was all but empty when I passed by this afternoon (there's often a queue, so I window-gaze wistfully), so I stuck my doubly masked face in, and at once spotted a copy of Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic & Religion. Snapped that one up like a duck on a junebug.
Oh la la! Just look at this new Liberty puzzle, a Story Map of France. Fabulous whimsies!
Of course, it debuted a week after my number came up, so it had to go on my impossibly long wishlist. What sang to me this time was Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose. Much as I love winter, that day my boots were wet through, and I wanted a secret garden.
Nine
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