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Living Autobiography #1
Things I Don't Want to Know
'Unmissable. Like chancing upon an oasis, you want to drink it slowly... Subtle, unpredictable, surprising' Guardian
Things I Don't Want to Know is the first in Deborah Levy's essential three-part 'Living Autobiography' on writing and womanhood.
Taking George Orwell's famous essay, 'Why I Write', as a jumping-off point, Deborah Levy offers her own indispensable reflections of the writing life. With wit, clarity and calm brilliance, she considers how the writer must stake claim to that contested territory as a young woman and shape it to her need. Things I Don't Want to Know is a work of dazzling insight and deep psychological succour, from one of our most vital contemporary writers.
'Superb sharpness and originality of imagination. An inspiring work of writing' Marina Warner
Things I Don't Want to Know is the first in Deborah Levy's essential three-part 'Living Autobiography' on writing and womanhood.
Taking George Orwell's famous essay, 'Why I Write', as a jumping-off point, Deborah Levy offers her own indispensable reflections of the writing life. With wit, clarity and calm brilliance, she considers how the writer must stake claim to that contested territory as a young woman and shape it to her need. Things I Don't Want to Know is a work of dazzling insight and deep psychological succour, from one of our most vital contemporary writers.
'Superb sharpness and originality of imagination. An inspiring work of writing' Marina Warner
176 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2014
750 people are currently reading
36085 people want to read
About the author
Deborah Levy
55 books3,557 followersDeborah Levy trained at Dartington College of Arts leaving in 1981 to write a number of plays, highly acclaimed for their "intellectual rigour, poetic fantasy and visual imagination", including PAX, HERESIES for the Royal Shakespeare Company, CLAM, CALL BLUE JANE, SHINY NYLON, HONEY BABY MIDDLE ENGLAND, PUSHING THE PRINCE INTO DENMARK and MACBETH-FALSE MEMORIES, some of which are published in LEVY: PLAYS 1 (Methuen)
Deborah wrote and published her first novel BEAUTIFUL MUTANTS (Vintage), when she was 27 years old. The experience of not having to give her words to a director, actors and designer to interpret, was so exhilarating, she wrote a few more. These include, SWALLOWING GEOGRAPHY, THE UNLOVED (Vintage) and BILLY and GIRL (Bloomsbury). She has always written across a number of art forms (see Bookworks and Collaborations with visual artists) and was Fellow in Creative Arts at Trinity College, Cambridge from 1989-1991.
Deborah wrote and published her first novel BEAUTIFUL MUTANTS (Vintage), when she was 27 years old. The experience of not having to give her words to a director, actors and designer to interpret, was so exhilarating, she wrote a few more. These include, SWALLOWING GEOGRAPHY, THE UNLOVED (Vintage) and BILLY and GIRL (Bloomsbury). She has always written across a number of art forms (see Bookworks and Collaborations with visual artists) and was Fellow in Creative Arts at Trinity College, Cambridge from 1989-1991.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,045 reviews
November 6, 2022
Summary
This book will make us whizz through three countries Spain, South Africa, and England, to know more about the author's life and her opinion about writing and her life as a woman. The author's outlook on multiple subjects might enlighten you, perturb you, perplex you, depress you, and enliven you.
What I learned from this book
1) Neopatriarchy in 21st century
Neopatriarchy is the form of patriarchal projection into the millennial's nuclear families. These women accept the ludicrous gender role. The way they try to play with their power game is preposterous. The mother-in-law and sister-in-law manipulate and sabotage the new poor woman (son's or brother's bride). They accept the absurdity of patriarchy and give men unwanted pre-eminence and try to banjax other ladies lives inside their own nuclear families. We have to say that Deborah Levy hit the bullseye here in divulging us this aspect.
2) The ego of a writer, Deborah Levy’s version vs George Orwell’s version
George Orwell's version as he told in "Why I Write",
Deborah Levy's version in this book
If Orwell would have been alive, how would he have reacted to Deborah's take on writing? He might have quarreled with her, or he might have admired her. What Orwell might have done is not so relevant but what we will do is rather crucial as she is pointing something really poignant yet absolutely germane.
3) Woman and masculine consciousness and motherhood
Deborah's take on motherhood is a really interesting one.
When Deborah read the above sentence, this was her response
My favourite three lines from this book
Rating
5/5
This is an absolutely brilliant memoir. But unfortunately, it's not everyone's cup of tea. If you are a woman and are into feminism or writing, you should definitely read this book. Some of the ideas shared by the author might be difficult to discern unless you have eclectic knowledge. But in my opinion, that is the beauty of this book. After finishing this book, the first thing I did was to start reading the second book of this series, "The cost of living."
This book will make us whizz through three countries Spain, South Africa, and England, to know more about the author's life and her opinion about writing and her life as a woman. The author's outlook on multiple subjects might enlighten you, perturb you, perplex you, depress you, and enliven you.
What I learned from this book
1) Neopatriarchy in 21st century
Neopatriarchy is the form of patriarchal projection into the millennial's nuclear families. These women accept the ludicrous gender role. The way they try to play with their power game is preposterous. The mother-in-law and sister-in-law manipulate and sabotage the new poor woman (son's or brother's bride). They accept the absurdity of patriarchy and give men unwanted pre-eminence and try to banjax other ladies lives inside their own nuclear families. We have to say that Deborah Levy hit the bullseye here in divulging us this aspect.
"Like everything that involves love, our children made us happy beyond measure- and unhappy too- but never as miserable as the twenty-first- century Neopatriarchy made us feel. It required us to be passive but ambitious, maternal but erotically energetic, self-sacrificing but fulfilled. We were to be Strong Modern Women while being subjected to all kinds of humiliations, both economic and domestic. If we felt guilty about everything most of the time, we were not sure what it was we had actually done wrong.
2) The ego of a writer, Deborah Levy’s version vs George Orwell’s version
George Orwell's version as he told in "Why I Write",
"All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives there lies a mystery. Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness."He divided reasons into"sheer egoism", "aesthetic enthusiasm", "historical impulse" and "political purpose".
Deborah Levy's version in this book
"Her massive ego helped her crush delusions about feminists under each of her shoes- which were smaller than her spectacles. When she wasn't too drunk, she found the intellectual energy to move on and crush another one. Perhaps when Orwell described sheer egoism as a necessary quality for a writer, he was not thinking about the sheer egoism of a female writer. Even the most arrogant female writer has to work overtime to build an ego that is robust enough to get her through January, never mind all the way to December."
If Orwell would have been alive, how would he have reacted to Deborah's take on writing? He might have quarreled with her, or he might have admired her. What Orwell might have done is not so relevant but what we will do is rather crucial as she is pointing something really poignant yet absolutely germane.
3) Woman and masculine consciousness and motherhood
Deborah's take on motherhood is a really interesting one.
"No woman is really an insider in the institutions fathered by masculine consciousness" - Adrienne rich.
When Deborah read the above sentence, this was her response
"That was the weird thing . It was becoming clear to me that Motherhood was an institution fathered by masculine consciousness. This male consciousness was male unconsciousness. It needed its female partners, who were also mothers to stamp on her own desires and attend to his desires, and then to everyone else's desires. We had a go at canceling our own desires and found we had a talent for it, and we put a lot of our life's energy into creating a home for our children and for our men.
If maternity is the only female signifier, we know that the baby on our lap, if it is healthy and well cared for, will eventually turn away from our breast and see someone else. He will see another. he will see the world, and he will fall in love with it. Some mothers go mad because the world that made them feel worthless is the same world with which their children fall in love.
The suburb of femininity is not a good place to live. Nor is it wise to seek refuge inside our children because children are always keen to make their way into the world to meet someone else. Yes, there had been many times I called my daughters back to zip up their coats. all the same, I knew they would rather be cold and free."
My favourite three lines from this book
"When a female writer walks a female character into the center of her literary enquiry (or a forest) and this character starts to project shadow and light all over the place, she will have to find a language that is in part to do with learning how to become a subject rather than a delusion, and in part to do with unknotting the ways in which she has been put together by the Societal System in the first palace. It's exhausting to learn how to become a subject, it's hard enough learning how to become a writer"
"Writing made me feel wiser than I actually was. Wise and sad”
"Sometimes in life, it's not about knowing where to start, it's knowing where to stop"
Rating
5/5
This is an absolutely brilliant memoir. But unfortunately, it's not everyone's cup of tea. If you are a woman and are into feminism or writing, you should definitely read this book. Some of the ideas shared by the author might be difficult to discern unless you have eclectic knowledge. But in my opinion, that is the beauty of this book. After finishing this book, the first thing I did was to start reading the second book of this series, "The cost of living."
May 23, 2021
This exquisite little book is dangerous to read on public transport because you will miss your stop. It is also dangerous to read in bed because it will not send you to sleep. I must also warn the potential reader that she will grieve being without this book soon after starting on it, because it is too short.
Having said that the book is concentrated literary goodness. And expands my knowledge and wisdom by a magical transference. I will never again see Barby dolls, budgerigars, soft toys, door handles or for that matter peoples obsession with kitty movies on Youtube in the same light again. Its refraction of the child’s intellect gives me more respect for the naughtiness of children. Its descriptions of black people in South Africa combines human respect, empathy and profound outrage in simple phrases and descriptions. Descriptions like beautiful nails that deserve to be firmly hammered in.
An argument for artists research that is intuitive, probing and playing a long game.
This is a modern classic of self-reflexive cross-genre writing. Read it. Be it.
More lugubrious writings by Stefan Szczelkun
Review of DL's next book in the series: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Having said that the book is concentrated literary goodness. And expands my knowledge and wisdom by a magical transference. I will never again see Barby dolls, budgerigars, soft toys, door handles or for that matter peoples obsession with kitty movies on Youtube in the same light again. Its refraction of the child’s intellect gives me more respect for the naughtiness of children. Its descriptions of black people in South Africa combines human respect, empathy and profound outrage in simple phrases and descriptions. Descriptions like beautiful nails that deserve to be firmly hammered in.
An argument for artists research that is intuitive, probing and playing a long game.
This is a modern classic of self-reflexive cross-genre writing. Read it. Be it.
More lugubrious writings by Stefan Szczelkun
Review of DL's next book in the series: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
December 19, 2019
Levy is a wonderful writer - this short slice of a memoir has 4 quick sections, two glimpses at her fractured life as she's writing it, sandwiching two moving sequences, most notably the story of Levy's father's jailing in South Africa when she was a young girl. All along, the thru-line is clear: what makes someone want to write, and how do they keep going in the face of adversity? A bit A Room of One's Own, a bit The Argonauts (in its excellent quotation of feminist theory), challenging and charming at once.
June 22, 2024
IL LUOGO DOVE ABITA LA VOCE
Non riuscivo a sentirla, ma sapevo che le sue parole avevano a che fare con l’idea di dire le cose ad alta voce, di esprimere i miei desideri, di vivere il mondo e non farsene sconfiggere.
La prefazione di Olga Campofreda esordisce menzionando il suo primo attacco di panico sulla metropolitana alla stazione Termini: e io ho pensato che è un posto dove un attacco di panico ci sta, stupisce meno, perché passare da una linea della metro all’altra è da incubo.
E ho ripensato al mio primo, e per ora unico, attacco di panico, una notte d’estate ad Ancona: risveglio improvviso in mezza alla notte, sudore freddo e per contro caldo asfissiante, mancanza d’aria, difficoltà di respiro. Avevo appena iniziato il primo viaggio con mio figlio dodicenne, ed ero fresco di separazione da sua madre. Responsabilità e coinvolgimento a go go.
Deborah Levy fa partire questo primo capitolo della sua autobiografia ‘viaggiante’ dalle scale mobili delle stazioni, nel momento in cui si accorge che è lì che le viene da piangere. E io penso a coloro, come lei, che nella parola, con l’arte e la Bellezza, hanno cercato la chiave di se stessi, del mondo e dell’esistere. E probabilmente anche il modo di lasciare un segno.
E Levy la chiave di se stessa, di ciò che oggi è e di ciò che è stata ieri, la cerca a cominciare dalla sua infanzia nel Sudafrica dell’apartheid, il capitolo più lungo di questo breve intenso memoir. E mi stende, mi devasta piacevolmente: per come sa trovare subito la “giusta distanza”, per come sa raccontare un’infanzia complicata con ironia e allo stesso tempo sfiorando quelle corde che passano subito dietro le ghiandole lacrimali, e basta un leggero spostamento e l’occhio si inumidisce immediatamente.
Un’infanzia complicata che comincia la sera che vengono ad arrestare suo padre: la polizia dei bianchi arresta un bianco perché è amico dei neri. Carcere duro, torture, cinque anni via dalla sua famiglia. E la piccola Deborah viene mandata in un’altra città – da Johannesburg a Durban – in una famiglia composta da una madre zucchero dipendente che pensa solo al suo pappagallino azzurro, un padre severo con l’occhio di vetro, e una figlia diciasettenne un po’ svitata ma affettuosa. Una famiglia che la iscrive in una scuola retta da suore.
…l’emozione, che da sempre terrorizza la severa avanguardia, si trasmette meglio se con voce glaciale. Quanto alle strategie che chi scrive narrativa potrebbe utilizzare per svelare come i suoi personaggi tentino di reprimere un desiderio a lungo coltivato, trovo che la storia di questa esitazione sia proprio il fulcro della scrittura.
PS
Anche questo è un consiglio prezioso di Laura, che ha sguardo acuto, e sa sempre suggerirmi letture notevoli. La ringrazio anche perché mi ha riconciliato con la Levy, di cui avevo letto un paio di romanzi ma senza particolare entusiasmo.
Tutte le immagini vengono dal film di Jean-Luc Godard “Vivre sa vie – Questa è la mia vita” del 1962, così come il fotogramma sulla copertina dell’edizione NNE.
Non riuscivo a sentirla, ma sapevo che le sue parole avevano a che fare con l’idea di dire le cose ad alta voce, di esprimere i miei desideri, di vivere il mondo e non farsene sconfiggere.
La prefazione di Olga Campofreda esordisce menzionando il suo primo attacco di panico sulla metropolitana alla stazione Termini: e io ho pensato che è un posto dove un attacco di panico ci sta, stupisce meno, perché passare da una linea della metro all’altra è da incubo.
E ho ripensato al mio primo, e per ora unico, attacco di panico, una notte d’estate ad Ancona: risveglio improvviso in mezza alla notte, sudore freddo e per contro caldo asfissiante, mancanza d’aria, difficoltà di respiro. Avevo appena iniziato il primo viaggio con mio figlio dodicenne, ed ero fresco di separazione da sua madre. Responsabilità e coinvolgimento a go go.
Deborah Levy fa partire questo primo capitolo della sua autobiografia ‘viaggiante’ dalle scale mobili delle stazioni, nel momento in cui si accorge che è lì che le viene da piangere. E io penso a coloro, come lei, che nella parola, con l’arte e la Bellezza, hanno cercato la chiave di se stessi, del mondo e dell’esistere. E probabilmente anche il modo di lasciare un segno.
E Levy la chiave di se stessa, di ciò che oggi è e di ciò che è stata ieri, la cerca a cominciare dalla sua infanzia nel Sudafrica dell’apartheid, il capitolo più lungo di questo breve intenso memoir. E mi stende, mi devasta piacevolmente: per come sa trovare subito la “giusta distanza”, per come sa raccontare un’infanzia complicata con ironia e allo stesso tempo sfiorando quelle corde che passano subito dietro le ghiandole lacrimali, e basta un leggero spostamento e l’occhio si inumidisce immediatamente.
Un’infanzia complicata che comincia la sera che vengono ad arrestare suo padre: la polizia dei bianchi arresta un bianco perché è amico dei neri. Carcere duro, torture, cinque anni via dalla sua famiglia. E la piccola Deborah viene mandata in un’altra città – da Johannesburg a Durban – in una famiglia composta da una madre zucchero dipendente che pensa solo al suo pappagallino azzurro, un padre severo con l’occhio di vetro, e una figlia diciasettenne un po’ svitata ma affettuosa. Una famiglia che la iscrive in una scuola retta da suore.
…l’emozione, che da sempre terrorizza la severa avanguardia, si trasmette meglio se con voce glaciale. Quanto alle strategie che chi scrive narrativa potrebbe utilizzare per svelare come i suoi personaggi tentino di reprimere un desiderio a lungo coltivato, trovo che la storia di questa esitazione sia proprio il fulcro della scrittura.
PS
Anche questo è un consiglio prezioso di Laura, che ha sguardo acuto, e sa sempre suggerirmi letture notevoli. La ringrazio anche perché mi ha riconciliato con la Levy, di cui avevo letto un paio di romanzi ma senza particolare entusiasmo.
Tutte le immagini vengono dal film di Jean-Luc Godard “Vivre sa vie – Questa è la mia vita” del 1962, così come il fotogramma sulla copertina dell’edizione NNE.
November 11, 2021
Is life worth living if you know about the cruelty of systemic racism, sexism, ostracism?
How do we approach the things we know that break our hearts? What do we do with that unwanted knowledge and that broken heart that keeps pounding inside us, hurting and surviving?
On the last pages of this autobiographical reflection and beautiful response to George Orwell's essay on writing, Deborah Levy leaves me speechless. She puts into words what I have felt my whole life: the conundrum of thirst for knowledge and pain of knowing.
It came to me when I read Anne Frank's diary as a very young teenager and became obsessed with the nightmare of her life and death. I DID NOT want to know, and yet I read everything my local library in the middle of nowhere in Sweden in the late 80s had to offer. And I have not stopped thinking about not wanting to know, while now even teaching it myself, to the next generation of readers and thinkers and feelers.
The context of things Levy does not want to know is the South Africa of her childhood, but I think it is a general question too. It is all about the hurt that forces us to choose our path, our compass, our purpose when we would much rather sit inside our comfort zone and be oblivious.
We are what we don't want to know, but know nonetheless. To know is to live! To hurt is to live with a passion! To care or not to care...
How do we approach the things we know that break our hearts? What do we do with that unwanted knowledge and that broken heart that keeps pounding inside us, hurting and surviving?
On the last pages of this autobiographical reflection and beautiful response to George Orwell's essay on writing, Deborah Levy leaves me speechless. She puts into words what I have felt my whole life: the conundrum of thirst for knowledge and pain of knowing.
It came to me when I read Anne Frank's diary as a very young teenager and became obsessed with the nightmare of her life and death. I DID NOT want to know, and yet I read everything my local library in the middle of nowhere in Sweden in the late 80s had to offer. And I have not stopped thinking about not wanting to know, while now even teaching it myself, to the next generation of readers and thinkers and feelers.
The context of things Levy does not want to know is the South Africa of her childhood, but I think it is a general question too. It is all about the hurt that forces us to choose our path, our compass, our purpose when we would much rather sit inside our comfort zone and be oblivious.
We are what we don't want to know, but know nonetheless. To know is to live! To hurt is to live with a passion! To care or not to care...
November 16, 2021
Escaping Woman Traps
Trapped by hormones. Trapped by children and familial affections. Trapped by pervasive patriarchy. Trapped by social expectations and professional barriers. Trapped by the vagaries of the time, place and circumstances of birth. Trapped by legal injustice. Trapped by misogyny. Trapped (sometimes) by being Jewish. And trapped (if you’re English) by Brillo pads and West Finchley. It’s a jungle out there for every woman.
Nature and nurture systematically conspire to make life miserable for half the world’s population. Awareness of the depths of this oppression only increases the intensity of the pain suffered. Writing is a form of therapy, not because it improves the situation or reduces the pain but because it’s an escape, and even sometimes an acceptable form of revenge against those who do bad things to other people, particularly to women.
If you’re good at writing, you can express rage at being trapped in a very controlled but deliberate way. And you know when rage can be transformed into humour or pathos. But you must, if you’re a woman, also know how to forget: “A female writer cannot afford to feel her life too clearly. If she does, she will write in a rage when she should write calmly.” Perhaps this is the only effective escape, to write calmly in order to forget.
Trapped by hormones. Trapped by children and familial affections. Trapped by pervasive patriarchy. Trapped by social expectations and professional barriers. Trapped by the vagaries of the time, place and circumstances of birth. Trapped by legal injustice. Trapped by misogyny. Trapped (sometimes) by being Jewish. And trapped (if you’re English) by Brillo pads and West Finchley. It’s a jungle out there for every woman.
Nature and nurture systematically conspire to make life miserable for half the world’s population. Awareness of the depths of this oppression only increases the intensity of the pain suffered. Writing is a form of therapy, not because it improves the situation or reduces the pain but because it’s an escape, and even sometimes an acceptable form of revenge against those who do bad things to other people, particularly to women.
If you’re good at writing, you can express rage at being trapped in a very controlled but deliberate way. And you know when rage can be transformed into humour or pathos. But you must, if you’re a woman, also know how to forget: “A female writer cannot afford to feel her life too clearly. If she does, she will write in a rage when she should write calmly.” Perhaps this is the only effective escape, to write calmly in order to forget.
May 15, 2019
I was frustrated by Political Purpose, the opening chapter of Deborah Levy’s four-part memoir—a work which some regard as “a feminist response to Orwell’s ‘Why I Write’.” I found it hard going, pretentious, and opaque. Could you just get to the point, I wondered. Well, Levy does eventually manage to do that—sort of. One spring, she writes, “life was very hard”, and its difficulty was often most apparent to her when she was standing on an ascending escalator. Something about being moved passively upwards would cause her to cry, almost to the point of sobbing. A good part of her trouble was related to her having been submerged in the role of mother for years. Motherhood is a qualitatively different experience from fatherhood, she writes, and it is not uncommon for women to cancel their own desires. According to Marguerite Duras, whom Levy quotes, being a mother “means that a woman gives her body over to her child, her children . . . they devour her, hit her, sleep on her.” Women become “shadows of their former selves,” metamorphosing into hormonally programmed creatures whose breast milk flows at their babies’ cries. Such women become people who no longer understand themselves.
In an effort to come to terms with what was happening inside, Levy removed herself from the domestic scene, traveling to an out-of-the-way pensione in Palma, Majorca, a place where she’d found solace in the past. In the humble little hotel run by Maria, a woman who’d managed to avoid the traditional roles of wife and mother, Levy could rest, reflect, and take stock.
In the second, strongest and richest section of her memoir, Historical Impulse, Levy looks back on her South African childhood. She identifies an early awareness of the deep inequities within that society and her discovery of the power of the written word to bring to the surface the things she might not want to know.
In 1964 when Levy was five years old, her father was picked up one night by the special branch of the security police. Both of Levy’s parents were members of the African National Congress, the banned political organization that was fighting for equal human rights for Africans, Coloureds, and Indians. For the five years her father was incarcerated, Levy was expected to be brave. Knowing she was not to mention his whereabouts, she made up stories about his being in England. Mostly, though, she did not talk. It was an effort to get any words out; the volume of her voice had somehow been turned way down. At school, her “nonsense” (not speaking audibly) and her refusal to fill her notebook pages as directed inflamed her Afrikaner teacher, who evidently perceived the child’s acts as a kind of political resistance. The woman sent the girl to the head-master’s office where she was slapped, ostensibly for her failure to comply, but actually for being the Jewish daughter of a political prisoner, a man who dared to challenge the racist status quo.
Levy writes a compelling account of subsequently being sent to Durban to stay with her godmother, Dory, and her family, where the young girl’s understanding of the society into which she had been born would only grow. In Durban, the now seven or eight-year-old Deborah was befriended by Dory’s spirited young-adult daughter. Melissa not only encouraged the child to speak up, but the young woman also defied racist policies by having an Indian boyfriend. Not surprisingly (given her father’s incarceration), Levy became preoccupied with freeing her godmother’s caged budgie. At this time, too, her father wrote to her from prison, encouraging her to say her thoughts out loud, not just in her head. This was the point at which Levy discovered that her real voice was most likely to emerge through writing. The experiences that troubled her—the things she really didn’t want to know—would come out with biro and paper.
There are some other striking details provided in this section of the memoir. As a child who was required to be stoical in the face of hardship, Deborah saw in her plastic Barbie doll a kind of model for the way a girl should be. “Untouched by anything horrible that happened in the world,” Barbie was calm, pretty, and plastic. Levy wished that she too could be plastic with painted-on blue eyes “that held no secrets.”
From early childhood, Levy was well aware of the racism of the society into which she’d been born. She had heard all about the Sharpeville Massacre that happened a year after her birth. She was also an early reader and had no trouble decoding the signs restricting parks and beaches to whites. She loved the family’s Zulu servant, “Maria” (Zama), and was sensitive as to the toll that the political situation had taken on the woman. Maria was separated from her family in the townships, including her daughter, Thandiwe (“Doreen”), who was the same age as Deborah. All African house staff (and their offspring) were given easily pronounced English names, further removing them from their African identities—from themselves.
Overall, I found Things I Don’t Want to Know an uneven work. The second chapter alone is worth the price of admission, but I was less impressed by the other sections. The third section focuses on Levy’s teenaged years when the family lived “in exile” in England. By this time, her parents had separated, and Levy was indulging in writerly pretensions. Occasionally humorous, the chapter (with its slapstick elements) didn’t quite work for me.
As for the fourth and final chapter: Levy returns to the Majorcan setting, which she uses as a framing device. The reader learns that Maria, the hotel keeper, also apparently unhappy with her lot—perhaps because of restrictions imposed by her brother, who has part ownership of the hotel and controls the finances—is fleeing the place she has for years so lovingly tended. Again, as in the first chapter, the prose is somewhat unfocused and a bit precious. There are some strained metaphors, including one involving a window opening like an orange.
If this is a memoir intended to communicate why Levy writes, I don’t think it is entirely successful. It feels incomplete, the work of someone trying to find herself, which perhaps is the point. It is more a book about being “on the run from the lies concealed in the language of politics, from myths about our character and our purpose in life.”
Thank you to my Goodreads friend Mimi for making me aware of this book, which I did enjoy in spite of a few reservations.
In an effort to come to terms with what was happening inside, Levy removed herself from the domestic scene, traveling to an out-of-the-way pensione in Palma, Majorca, a place where she’d found solace in the past. In the humble little hotel run by Maria, a woman who’d managed to avoid the traditional roles of wife and mother, Levy could rest, reflect, and take stock.
In the second, strongest and richest section of her memoir, Historical Impulse, Levy looks back on her South African childhood. She identifies an early awareness of the deep inequities within that society and her discovery of the power of the written word to bring to the surface the things she might not want to know.
In 1964 when Levy was five years old, her father was picked up one night by the special branch of the security police. Both of Levy’s parents were members of the African National Congress, the banned political organization that was fighting for equal human rights for Africans, Coloureds, and Indians. For the five years her father was incarcerated, Levy was expected to be brave. Knowing she was not to mention his whereabouts, she made up stories about his being in England. Mostly, though, she did not talk. It was an effort to get any words out; the volume of her voice had somehow been turned way down. At school, her “nonsense” (not speaking audibly) and her refusal to fill her notebook pages as directed inflamed her Afrikaner teacher, who evidently perceived the child’s acts as a kind of political resistance. The woman sent the girl to the head-master’s office where she was slapped, ostensibly for her failure to comply, but actually for being the Jewish daughter of a political prisoner, a man who dared to challenge the racist status quo.
Levy writes a compelling account of subsequently being sent to Durban to stay with her godmother, Dory, and her family, where the young girl’s understanding of the society into which she had been born would only grow. In Durban, the now seven or eight-year-old Deborah was befriended by Dory’s spirited young-adult daughter. Melissa not only encouraged the child to speak up, but the young woman also defied racist policies by having an Indian boyfriend. Not surprisingly (given her father’s incarceration), Levy became preoccupied with freeing her godmother’s caged budgie. At this time, too, her father wrote to her from prison, encouraging her to say her thoughts out loud, not just in her head. This was the point at which Levy discovered that her real voice was most likely to emerge through writing. The experiences that troubled her—the things she really didn’t want to know—would come out with biro and paper.
There are some other striking details provided in this section of the memoir. As a child who was required to be stoical in the face of hardship, Deborah saw in her plastic Barbie doll a kind of model for the way a girl should be. “Untouched by anything horrible that happened in the world,” Barbie was calm, pretty, and plastic. Levy wished that she too could be plastic with painted-on blue eyes “that held no secrets.”
From early childhood, Levy was well aware of the racism of the society into which she’d been born. She had heard all about the Sharpeville Massacre that happened a year after her birth. She was also an early reader and had no trouble decoding the signs restricting parks and beaches to whites. She loved the family’s Zulu servant, “Maria” (Zama), and was sensitive as to the toll that the political situation had taken on the woman. Maria was separated from her family in the townships, including her daughter, Thandiwe (“Doreen”), who was the same age as Deborah. All African house staff (and their offspring) were given easily pronounced English names, further removing them from their African identities—from themselves.
Overall, I found Things I Don’t Want to Know an uneven work. The second chapter alone is worth the price of admission, but I was less impressed by the other sections. The third section focuses on Levy’s teenaged years when the family lived “in exile” in England. By this time, her parents had separated, and Levy was indulging in writerly pretensions. Occasionally humorous, the chapter (with its slapstick elements) didn’t quite work for me.
As for the fourth and final chapter: Levy returns to the Majorcan setting, which she uses as a framing device. The reader learns that Maria, the hotel keeper, also apparently unhappy with her lot—perhaps because of restrictions imposed by her brother, who has part ownership of the hotel and controls the finances—is fleeing the place she has for years so lovingly tended. Again, as in the first chapter, the prose is somewhat unfocused and a bit precious. There are some strained metaphors, including one involving a window opening like an orange.
If this is a memoir intended to communicate why Levy writes, I don’t think it is entirely successful. It feels incomplete, the work of someone trying to find herself, which perhaps is the point. It is more a book about being “on the run from the lies concealed in the language of politics, from myths about our character and our purpose in life.”
Thank you to my Goodreads friend Mimi for making me aware of this book, which I did enjoy in spite of a few reservations.
June 25, 2023
wow gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous.
i rarely click with nonfiction so immediately, even when the prose itself is pretty (see: joan didion), but deborah levy is an IT GIRL in my book! ☝️😍 this tiny little book perfectly straddles the border between emotionally vulnerable and beautifully atmospheric (simultaneously singularly of its time and timeless). levy’s voice is HONED. her story feels total. her eye for the historical, political, and familial is neither heavy-handed nor unobtrusive—it is all juggled with skill. i felt her losses and was completely convinced by her dedication to craft and process.
this is exactly the kind of book i’m looking for when i want to know why and how writers are the way that they are (what made them, what drives them, what they have had to destroy in taking up their pen) and it was so EXCELLENTLY contained. any longer or shorter and my five star rating would have wavered, i think…
i rarely click with nonfiction so immediately, even when the prose itself is pretty (see: joan didion), but deborah levy is an IT GIRL in my book! ☝️😍 this tiny little book perfectly straddles the border between emotionally vulnerable and beautifully atmospheric (simultaneously singularly of its time and timeless). levy’s voice is HONED. her story feels total. her eye for the historical, political, and familial is neither heavy-handed nor unobtrusive—it is all juggled with skill. i felt her losses and was completely convinced by her dedication to craft and process.
this is exactly the kind of book i’m looking for when i want to know why and how writers are the way that they are (what made them, what drives them, what they have had to destroy in taking up their pen) and it was so EXCELLENTLY contained. any longer or shorter and my five star rating would have wavered, i think…
April 15, 2024
I’d enjoyed elements of several of her books (Swimming Home, Hot Milk and especially The Man Who Saw Everything). I thought her stories quirky, her dialogue taught and interesting, but I found her characters sometimes hard to like, and a couple of her stories I found a little soulless. So I thought it would be interesting to delve into the life of this author a little to discover what experiences might have helped shape this person. But this is no ordinary autobiography: to start with it’s really very short - the first part of a trilogy of memoirs - and secondly its structure is really that of an extended essay, in fact a response to Orwell’s Why I Write.
Unfortunately, I haven’t read the Orwell piece, so I’m not able to comment on this aspect. But it’s clear that the early pages are a response to something, with opinions and erudite quotes sprinkled amongst a brief account of a trip to Majorca. This trip occurred within the past ten years (her references to her writing confirms this) and it seems that the island provides a retreat she returns to when she needs to escape, to reflect and to refresh herself. In truth, it’s an island I’ve visited many times and always with some of the same outcomes in mind!
The remainder of the books touches on her early life in South Africa, a time in which her ANC supporting father was one day arrested and taken away – she wouldn’t see him again for four years. Then there’s a section when, as a teenager living in a North London suburb, she reflects on her time as a rebellious would be writer living ‘in exile’. These anecdotes paint vivid pictures of both time and place and show something of what her early life must have comprised.
I’m not quite sure how to rate this one. There’s enough here to pull me back for part two, but I had felt my mind wondering through the first section, in particular. It’s a taster menu when I was up for a full three courses with all the trimmings. I got a sense of things and enjoyed much of what was there, but without finding it fully satisfying. However, I’m in a generous mood, so I’ll go with three and half stars rounded up to four.
My thanks to Penguin for providing a copy of this book via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
Unfortunately, I haven’t read the Orwell piece, so I’m not able to comment on this aspect. But it’s clear that the early pages are a response to something, with opinions and erudite quotes sprinkled amongst a brief account of a trip to Majorca. This trip occurred within the past ten years (her references to her writing confirms this) and it seems that the island provides a retreat she returns to when she needs to escape, to reflect and to refresh herself. In truth, it’s an island I’ve visited many times and always with some of the same outcomes in mind!
The remainder of the books touches on her early life in South Africa, a time in which her ANC supporting father was one day arrested and taken away – she wouldn’t see him again for four years. Then there’s a section when, as a teenager living in a North London suburb, she reflects on her time as a rebellious would be writer living ‘in exile’. These anecdotes paint vivid pictures of both time and place and show something of what her early life must have comprised.
I’m not quite sure how to rate this one. There’s enough here to pull me back for part two, but I had felt my mind wondering through the first section, in particular. It’s a taster menu when I was up for a full three courses with all the trimmings. I got a sense of things and enjoyed much of what was there, but without finding it fully satisfying. However, I’m in a generous mood, so I’ll go with three and half stars rounded up to four.
My thanks to Penguin for providing a copy of this book via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
January 23, 2021
Now re-read because I have an ARC of the third part (Real Estate) and want to read all three parts consecutively. Now on to The Cost of Living: A Working Autobiography
I notice my original review below does not pick up a couple of quotes on the repeated idea of speaking up, which is key to the book, so:
"Melissa was the first person in my life who had encouraged me to speak up. With her blue painted-on eyes and blonde beehive that was nearly as tall as I was, she was spirited and brave and she was making the best of her lot. I couldn't hear her, but I knew her words were to do with saying things out loud, owning up to the things I wished for, being in the world and not defeated by it"
"I had told the Chinese shop keeper that to become a writer, I had to learn to interrupt, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and then louder, and then to just speak in my own voice which is not loud at all."
---------------
ORIGINAL REVIEW
---------------
In his essay "Why I write" (which I confess I have not read), George Orwell identifies four motives for writing: sheer egoism, aesthetic enthusiasm, historical impulse and political purpose. Here, in the first of a planned trilogy of autobiographical essays/memoirs, Deborah Levy takes those four motivations and responds to them via episodes from her own life.
The book consists of four short essays each with the title of one of Orwell’s motivations. In "Political Purpose", set in Majorca where Levy has gone for respite because she keeps crying on the way up escalators, we read about the "suburb of femininity" and about motherhood but we also learn about Levy’s earlier meeting with a Polish director who advises one of her students that "to speak up is not about speaking louder, it is about feeling entitled to voice a wish". She doesn’t say it directly, but it seems Levy’s "political purpose" is that women should be able to speak up like this.
Then, in "Historical Impulse", Levy heads back to early childhood and her time in South Africa during apartheid when her father was arrested for being a member of the ANC. During this, we meet Melissa who encourages Levy to speak up, which Levy does by writing things down. This is the historical impulse that propelled her towards writing.
In "Sheer Egoism", we fast forward to Levy as a teenager now living in London. She is still trying to write and she says that "Writing made me feel wiser than I actually was".
Finally we return to Majorca for "Aesthetic Experience" where a Chinese shopkeeper advises her that sometimes we have to know when to stop and where she meditates on Apollinaire’s line "The window opens like an orange". She wonders "What do we do with the things we do not want to know?" And her answer is, she writes about them.
To be honest, I would read Levy’s shopping lists if she published them. I am a huge fan of the way she writes and whilst this autobiographical non-fiction might not have the same startling weirdness of some of her fiction, it is still a beautiful book to read, full of thought provoking comments and wonderful language.
I notice my original review below does not pick up a couple of quotes on the repeated idea of speaking up, which is key to the book, so:
"Melissa was the first person in my life who had encouraged me to speak up. With her blue painted-on eyes and blonde beehive that was nearly as tall as I was, she was spirited and brave and she was making the best of her lot. I couldn't hear her, but I knew her words were to do with saying things out loud, owning up to the things I wished for, being in the world and not defeated by it"
"I had told the Chinese shop keeper that to become a writer, I had to learn to interrupt, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and then louder, and then to just speak in my own voice which is not loud at all."
---------------
ORIGINAL REVIEW
---------------
In his essay "Why I write" (which I confess I have not read), George Orwell identifies four motives for writing: sheer egoism, aesthetic enthusiasm, historical impulse and political purpose. Here, in the first of a planned trilogy of autobiographical essays/memoirs, Deborah Levy takes those four motivations and responds to them via episodes from her own life.
The book consists of four short essays each with the title of one of Orwell’s motivations. In "Political Purpose", set in Majorca where Levy has gone for respite because she keeps crying on the way up escalators, we read about the "suburb of femininity" and about motherhood but we also learn about Levy’s earlier meeting with a Polish director who advises one of her students that "to speak up is not about speaking louder, it is about feeling entitled to voice a wish". She doesn’t say it directly, but it seems Levy’s "political purpose" is that women should be able to speak up like this.
Then, in "Historical Impulse", Levy heads back to early childhood and her time in South Africa during apartheid when her father was arrested for being a member of the ANC. During this, we meet Melissa who encourages Levy to speak up, which Levy does by writing things down. This is the historical impulse that propelled her towards writing.
In "Sheer Egoism", we fast forward to Levy as a teenager now living in London. She is still trying to write and she says that "Writing made me feel wiser than I actually was".
Finally we return to Majorca for "Aesthetic Experience" where a Chinese shopkeeper advises her that sometimes we have to know when to stop and where she meditates on Apollinaire’s line "The window opens like an orange". She wonders "What do we do with the things we do not want to know?" And her answer is, she writes about them.
To be honest, I would read Levy’s shopping lists if she published them. I am a huge fan of the way she writes and whilst this autobiographical non-fiction might not have the same startling weirdness of some of her fiction, it is still a beautiful book to read, full of thought provoking comments and wonderful language.
August 20, 2024
#nonfictionnovember
What do we do with knowledge that we cannot bear to live with? What do we do with the things we do not want to know?
Confesso que tentei ler “Porque Escrevo” de George Orwell, que serviu de ponto de partida a estes ensaios de Deborah Levy, e não consegui porque era bastante árido. Já em Levy encontrei a graciosidade, a sensibilidade e a ironia fina que tanto me agradam.
Dos quatro ensaios, acho que dois se destacam: “Objectivo Político”, em que a autora discorre sobre a maternidade, e “Impulso Histórico”, que é um relato bastante emotivo dos seus primeiros anos de vida, passados na África do Sul, onde o pai esteve preso durante cinco anos, durante o Apartheid, por pertencer ao ANC.
Even more useful to a writer than a room of her own is an extension lead and a variety of adaptors for Europe, Asia and Africa.
What do we do with knowledge that we cannot bear to live with? What do we do with the things we do not want to know?
Confesso que tentei ler “Porque Escrevo” de George Orwell, que serviu de ponto de partida a estes ensaios de Deborah Levy, e não consegui porque era bastante árido. Já em Levy encontrei a graciosidade, a sensibilidade e a ironia fina que tanto me agradam.
Dos quatro ensaios, acho que dois se destacam: “Objectivo Político”, em que a autora discorre sobre a maternidade, e “Impulso Histórico”, que é um relato bastante emotivo dos seus primeiros anos de vida, passados na África do Sul, onde o pai esteve preso durante cinco anos, durante o Apartheid, por pertencer ao ANC.
Even more useful to a writer than a room of her own is an extension lead and a variety of adaptors for Europe, Asia and Africa.
July 22, 2025
Had to hold back tears and a minor breakdown on the bus after reading this. A sparkling memoir of Levy tackling the ideas of belonging, exile, and identity, and the magic of writing as a passage to coming to fathom all the complexities of existence. I could not put this book down by the sheer fact that she's able to describe the pain and love of existing as a woman and human in general. So excited to get into the following two books of this trilogy!!!
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December 14, 2021I'm ending the year reading nonfiction. This month I'm also reading Deborah Levy's works (also reading The Cost of Living: A Working Autobiography ). There's something distinct about how Levy handles style in memoir writing. She forces the reader to stay with her, to wait for the emerging story, to consume the present with the adult narrator, while also being ready to plunge into the past with the child narrator. A reader will have to prepare for this journey. There are introspective moments of stillness in the small town and quiet boarding house where the writer works, and there are those enjoyable moments of fascinating conversations with strangers. The highlight is memory: the uncovering of singular moments, a past that defines a person. Levy tries to remember her South African childhood, tries to connect the dots with why she has suddenly found herself crying on escalators. One can also say this is about hesitancy, why we are sometimes unwilling to fully delve into memory, the fear of what that could bring.
May 24, 2022
If you really want to know, I simply adore Deborah Levy's writing. For me it is the perfect blend of pathos and humour. I both laughed and cried reading this book. Levy reminds me of Ali Smith in the way she can cross-reference other works (music, poems, philosophy, film, sculpture, painting) and weave them into the fabric of her text, seamlessly. Her style may not be as lyrical as Smith's but it is perhaps less mannered and packs just as emotional a punch. There is also a lively cast of characters: there's the Chinese shopkeeper and the Majorcan landlady and Levy's father, mother and obese godmother and this obese godmother's racist husband and their Barbie-like daughter and there's of course Farid the middle-aged au pair man. Levy has that rare gift of making her characters come alive with just a few words. Actually these people really did exist since this book is categorized as non-fiction, but I still like to think of it as a novel -- it certainly reads like one, and these characters are cut larger than life.
This is a book about a young writer struggling to find a voice and an older writer struggling to find a room of her own where she can raise that voice above a murmur.
It is the first part of a trilogy and I want to know more.
This is a book about a young writer struggling to find a voice and an older writer struggling to find a room of her own where she can raise that voice above a murmur.
It is the first part of a trilogy and I want to know more.
January 22, 2022
This is the first volume in Deborah Levy’s Living Autobiography series of memoirs (later followed by “Things I Don’t Want to Know” but before “Real Estate”) this was published in 2013, two years after her Booker shortlisting for “Swimming Home”
“Swimming Home” was Levy’s first novel for 15 years – the break it seems largely being down to being a mother of two children, and she struggled for publication of it with major publishers before being picked up by (a then relatively new) crowd funded publisher “And Other Stories” (whose crowd funding subscription model is now hugely successful and alongside many successful books are also well known for their leading the way in the area of diversification - deliberately moving their base out of London and later having a year of only publishing Female authors).
This book is effectively a riposte to George Orwell’s 1946 essay “Reasons Why I Write” and examines over four sections each of his reasons (albeit in a different order): Political Purpose, Historical Impulse, Sheer Egoism and Aesthetic Enthusiasm.
The first section is largely set in Majorca to which she travels from London after a “spring when life was very hard and I was at war with my lot”. In London she finds herself crying when standing on up escalators and later becoming obsessed with a poster of the human skeletal system which she misreads as The Societal System – as she realises society is taking her to places she does not want to go. In Majorca she stays at a small and cheap hotel, thinks back on incidents in her life and reflects on the role of women, particularly mothers, in a patriarchal Societal System “fathered by masculine consciousness” as well as arguing against Orwell that “even the most arrogant female writer has to work overtime to build an ego that tis robust enough to get her through January, let alone all the way to December”. In addition in this and the fourth section (which returns to Majorca) she interacts with the locals in scenes which reminded me of her fictional writing.
The second section while perhaps simpler in a literary sense (and less reminiscent of her powerful fictional writing) is also the most powerful – an account of her time in South Africa as a young girl after her anti-Apartheid father was arrested and held in prison for four years, something which lead to the author developing a habit of speaking very quietly and then reverting to silence. As Levy said in a recent Guardian interview “It was really about being totally overwhelmed by everything, not believing that my thoughts were in any way valuable to anyone, probably very frightened thoughts, and so I just stopped speaking.”. This section explores how Levy eventually started to rediscover her voice through writing. One of the strengths for me of this section is how Levy as an adult conveys and explores her feelings as a child – in a way which to me seemed both true to the remarkable lived experience of a child but with the literary filter of an adult.
The third section was for me something of a misstep – looking at the author’s life as a teenager in England (where her family fled). For me this failed in precisely the way the second section succeeded being an uneasy mix between a rather cliched diary of a teenager “It was very urgent that I got out of my life”, some rather unlikely slapstick and a clunky analogy about missing lids.
The fourth largely concludes with a line that is key to the book and printed on the cover of some versions of it: "I had to learn to interrupt, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and then louder, and then to just speak in my own voice which is not loud at all.".
Overall an extremely valuable read – thought provoking and beautifully written if a little uneven.
My thanks to Hamish Hamilton, Penguin for ARCs (and the other two volumes in the series) via NetGalley
“Swimming Home” was Levy’s first novel for 15 years – the break it seems largely being down to being a mother of two children, and she struggled for publication of it with major publishers before being picked up by (a then relatively new) crowd funded publisher “And Other Stories” (whose crowd funding subscription model is now hugely successful and alongside many successful books are also well known for their leading the way in the area of diversification - deliberately moving their base out of London and later having a year of only publishing Female authors).
This book is effectively a riposte to George Orwell’s 1946 essay “Reasons Why I Write” and examines over four sections each of his reasons (albeit in a different order): Political Purpose, Historical Impulse, Sheer Egoism and Aesthetic Enthusiasm.
The first section is largely set in Majorca to which she travels from London after a “spring when life was very hard and I was at war with my lot”. In London she finds herself crying when standing on up escalators and later becoming obsessed with a poster of the human skeletal system which she misreads as The Societal System – as she realises society is taking her to places she does not want to go. In Majorca she stays at a small and cheap hotel, thinks back on incidents in her life and reflects on the role of women, particularly mothers, in a patriarchal Societal System “fathered by masculine consciousness” as well as arguing against Orwell that “even the most arrogant female writer has to work overtime to build an ego that tis robust enough to get her through January, let alone all the way to December”. In addition in this and the fourth section (which returns to Majorca) she interacts with the locals in scenes which reminded me of her fictional writing.
The second section while perhaps simpler in a literary sense (and less reminiscent of her powerful fictional writing) is also the most powerful – an account of her time in South Africa as a young girl after her anti-Apartheid father was arrested and held in prison for four years, something which lead to the author developing a habit of speaking very quietly and then reverting to silence. As Levy said in a recent Guardian interview “It was really about being totally overwhelmed by everything, not believing that my thoughts were in any way valuable to anyone, probably very frightened thoughts, and so I just stopped speaking.”. This section explores how Levy eventually started to rediscover her voice through writing. One of the strengths for me of this section is how Levy as an adult conveys and explores her feelings as a child – in a way which to me seemed both true to the remarkable lived experience of a child but with the literary filter of an adult.
The third section was for me something of a misstep – looking at the author’s life as a teenager in England (where her family fled). For me this failed in precisely the way the second section succeeded being an uneasy mix between a rather cliched diary of a teenager “It was very urgent that I got out of my life”, some rather unlikely slapstick and a clunky analogy about missing lids.
The fourth largely concludes with a line that is key to the book and printed on the cover of some versions of it: "I had to learn to interrupt, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and then louder, and then to just speak in my own voice which is not loud at all.".
Overall an extremely valuable read – thought provoking and beautifully written if a little uneven.
My thanks to Hamish Hamilton, Penguin for ARCs (and the other two volumes in the series) via NetGalley
April 1, 2024
Trovare la propria voce
Non conoscevo Deborah Levy, sono arrivata a lei tramite @Laura Gotti sempre fonte di ispirazione.
Laura ha usato nella sua recensione il termine Librone per definire questo primo volume di una autobiografia in movimento della scrittrice e, che dire, non posso che concordare.
Quindi siamo nel territorio dei memoire, per me croce e delizia. Ho letto cose superbe ma anche altre che mi hanno lasciato assolutamente indifferente.
Credo che la differenza la faccia, e probabilmente espongo un'ovvietá, la resa universale della voce personale e univoca della scrittrice cosa che a mio avviso a DL riesce benissimo.
In questo libricino (ino solo per numero di pagine) per me c'è tutto: la ricerca di sé stessi, dell'amore, della famiglia, della patria intesa come luogo in cui sentirsi a casa. La tristezza che sconfina nell'ironia e nella brillantezza.
L'esilio.
"Quando arrivai a casa (West Finchley), ero disperata. Come avrei fatto a fuggire dalla vita in Esilio? Volevo essere in esilio dall’esilio."
Il combattere per ciò in cui si crede.
"Come mai la gente diventa crudele e depravata? Se torturi qualcuno sei pazzo o normale? Se un uomo bianco aizza il suo cane contro un bambino nero e per tutti è accettabile, se i vicini e la polizia e i giudici e gli insegnanti dicono «A me sta bene», vale la pena di vivere? E cosa fanno le persone convinte che non è per niente accettabile? Ce ne sono abbastanza nel mondo?"
L'identità femminile.
"Come siamo brave a ridere di noi stesse, dei nostri desideri. Ci prendiamo in giro, prima che possa farlo qualcun altro. Siamo programmate per uccidere, uccidere noi stesse. È meglio non pensarci."
Ma anche del ruolo di scrittrice.
"Risistemai la sedia e mi sedetti alla scrivania. Poi guardai le pareti per controllare dove erano le prese in modo da collegare il mio portatile. La più vicina alla scrivania era sopra il lavabo, una presa precaria per un rasoio elettrico da uomo. Quella primavera a Maiorca, quando la vita era complicata e semplicemente non riuscivo a vedere dove si potesse andare, mi venne in mente che il dove stava tutto in quella presa. Per una scrittrice, ancora più utili di una stanza tutta per sé sono una prolunga e una serie di adattatori per l’Europa, l’Asia e l’Africa."
Non conoscevo Deborah Levy, sono arrivata a lei tramite @Laura Gotti sempre fonte di ispirazione.
Laura ha usato nella sua recensione il termine Librone per definire questo primo volume di una autobiografia in movimento della scrittrice e, che dire, non posso che concordare.
Quindi siamo nel territorio dei memoire, per me croce e delizia. Ho letto cose superbe ma anche altre che mi hanno lasciato assolutamente indifferente.
Credo che la differenza la faccia, e probabilmente espongo un'ovvietá, la resa universale della voce personale e univoca della scrittrice cosa che a mio avviso a DL riesce benissimo.
In questo libricino (ino solo per numero di pagine) per me c'è tutto: la ricerca di sé stessi, dell'amore, della famiglia, della patria intesa come luogo in cui sentirsi a casa. La tristezza che sconfina nell'ironia e nella brillantezza.
L'esilio.
"Quando arrivai a casa (West Finchley), ero disperata. Come avrei fatto a fuggire dalla vita in Esilio? Volevo essere in esilio dall’esilio."
Il combattere per ciò in cui si crede.
"Come mai la gente diventa crudele e depravata? Se torturi qualcuno sei pazzo o normale? Se un uomo bianco aizza il suo cane contro un bambino nero e per tutti è accettabile, se i vicini e la polizia e i giudici e gli insegnanti dicono «A me sta bene», vale la pena di vivere? E cosa fanno le persone convinte che non è per niente accettabile? Ce ne sono abbastanza nel mondo?"
L'identità femminile.
"Come siamo brave a ridere di noi stesse, dei nostri desideri. Ci prendiamo in giro, prima che possa farlo qualcun altro. Siamo programmate per uccidere, uccidere noi stesse. È meglio non pensarci."
Ma anche del ruolo di scrittrice.
"Risistemai la sedia e mi sedetti alla scrivania. Poi guardai le pareti per controllare dove erano le prese in modo da collegare il mio portatile. La più vicina alla scrivania era sopra il lavabo, una presa precaria per un rasoio elettrico da uomo. Quella primavera a Maiorca, quando la vita era complicata e semplicemente non riuscivo a vedere dove si potesse andare, mi venne in mente che il dove stava tutto in quella presa. Per una scrittrice, ancora più utili di una stanza tutta per sé sono una prolunga e una serie di adattatori per l’Europa, l’Asia e l’Africa."
Read
September 28, 2019There's something exquisite about Deborah Levy's non-fiction.
December 29, 2022
“To become a WRITER I had to learn to INTERRUPT, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and then LOUDER, and then to just speak in my own voice which is NOT LOUD AT ALL.”
Things I Don't Want to Know (2013) is the first of Levy's "Living Autobiography,” which now has three short volumes, and maybe more will come. I’ve had a good year reading Annie Ernuaux, and most recently two volumes of Ali Smith’s Seasonal Quartet, all of which I enjoyed and learned from.
The Things I Don’t Want to Know is short, 103 pages, and is a response to the question George Orwell posed in his essay "Why I Write." And in her response she weaves in writers-Marguerite Duras, Virginia Woolf, and so on--that matter to her, to help explain how a woman writer’s answers will often be different to that question from Orwell. Or to paraphrase Orwell, we learn, even in the world of books, that while everyone is equal, some are more equal than others. Girls are raised and educated and socialized differently, they sometimes become wives and mothers that subsume everything else.
Levy divides her book into four sections corresponding to 4 motives for writing: political purpose, historical impulse, sheer egoism, and aesthetic enthusiasm. She speaks of herself at 7, 17, 50, speaking of growing in Apartheid South Africa--with her father imprisoned for opposing it--before going to England in her teen years. She writes of the struggle to speak, to find a voice, to publish while raising two children.
To write she had to dig deep into things that were difficult for her to come to terms with--close to the bone, she calls them--things she never ever wanted to know. I will now read the next two.
Things I Don't Want to Know (2013) is the first of Levy's "Living Autobiography,” which now has three short volumes, and maybe more will come. I’ve had a good year reading Annie Ernuaux, and most recently two volumes of Ali Smith’s Seasonal Quartet, all of which I enjoyed and learned from.
The Things I Don’t Want to Know is short, 103 pages, and is a response to the question George Orwell posed in his essay "Why I Write." And in her response she weaves in writers-Marguerite Duras, Virginia Woolf, and so on--that matter to her, to help explain how a woman writer’s answers will often be different to that question from Orwell. Or to paraphrase Orwell, we learn, even in the world of books, that while everyone is equal, some are more equal than others. Girls are raised and educated and socialized differently, they sometimes become wives and mothers that subsume everything else.
Levy divides her book into four sections corresponding to 4 motives for writing: political purpose, historical impulse, sheer egoism, and aesthetic enthusiasm. She speaks of herself at 7, 17, 50, speaking of growing in Apartheid South Africa--with her father imprisoned for opposing it--before going to England in her teen years. She writes of the struggle to speak, to find a voice, to publish while raising two children.
To write she had to dig deep into things that were difficult for her to come to terms with--close to the bone, she calls them--things she never ever wanted to know. I will now read the next two.
October 30, 2020
No me entusiasmó tanto como pensé que lo haría. Son probadas de algo que parece podría ser mucho mejor, más profundo, parece hacer como instantáneas de su vida, con algunos comentarios bonitos, que parecen truncarse por irse a otro lado, pero me da la impresión de que le dio poco tiempo a hacer esto, como para llamarlo autobiografía, y también simplemente puede ser que no conocía a esta autora, y este libro como tal, al llamarlo autobiografía, me dejó a medias.
August 9, 2024
I really loved the writing in this one and her story completely pulled me in - but it felt unfinished. This book felt like one chapter in what should be a much longer book. I know that her memoir is written in three separate volumes but I wonder why, because this one left me unsatisfied. Just as I was really getting into it it was over 😭
September 23, 2022
Deborah Levy was asked to write a response to George Orwell's essay "Why I Write." She uses the four motives he proposed as titles for the four parts of her essay, Things I Don't Want to Know: On Writing.
"Political Purpose" - In her meandering way Levy explores the role of woman/mother.
"chased by the women we used to be before we had children. We didn't really know what to do with her, this fierce, independent young woman who followed us about, shouting and pointing the finger while we wheeled our buggies in the English rain."
"Motherhood was an institution fathered by masculine consciousness. This male consciousness was male unconsciousness. It needed its female partners who were also mothers to stamp on her own desires and attend to his desires, and then to everyone else's desires. We had a go at cancelling our own desires. and found we had a talent for it."
"When a female writer walks a female character in to the centre of her literary enquiry . . . she will have to find a language that is in part to do with learning how to become a subject rather than a delusion, and in part to do with unknotting the ways in which she has been put together by the societal system in the first place. She will have to be canny how she sets about doing this because she will have many delusions of her own. In fact it would be best if she was uncanny when she sets about doing this. It's exhausting to learn ow to become a subject, it's hard enough learning how to become a writer."
I appreciate the points Levy makes. She does not, however, tie these thoughts together; and I feel dissatisfied as I move on to Part 2
"Historical Impulse" - Having recently read Damon Galgut's The Promise, I especially appreciate these reminiscences of the first 9 years of Levy's life spent in South Africa, especially the 4+ years during the period her father was a political prisoner. Apartheid, racism, and sexism are more of the things that Levy wishes she doesn't know about. And yet these are the meat of many histories with which societies are grappling.
"There was something I was beginning to understand at seven years old. It was to do with not feeling safe with people who were supposed to be safe. The clue was that even though Mr Sinclair [the school principal] was white and a grown-up and had his name written in gold letters on the door of his office, I was definitely less safe with him than I was with the black children I had been spying on in the playground. The second clue was that the white children were secretly scared of the black children. They were scared because they threw stones and did other mean things to the black children. White people were afraid of black people because they had done bad things to them. If you do bad things to people, you do not fee safe. And if you do not feel safe, you do not feel normal. The white people were not normal in South Africa."
"Girls have to speak up cuz no one listens to them anyway."
"I had been told to say my thoughts out loud and not just in my head but I decided to write them down."
"Sheer Egoism" - In this essay I see 15 year-old Deborah Levy in her black straw hat and lime green platform shoes hanging out in a greasy spoon by the bus station trying to imitate the poets and philosophers who inhabited the French cafes in years past. She already had the living in Exile thing down pat as her family moved to the UK a few months after her father's release from prison. And then her parents separated some time after that.
"Writing made me feel wiser than I actually was. Wise and sad. That was what I thought writers should be."
Writing led her to questioning and she questions her homeland.
"I had so many questions to ask the world from my bedroom in West Finchley about the country I was born in. How do people become cruel and depraved? If you torture someone, are you mad or are you normal? If a white man sets his dog on a black child and everyone says that's okay, if the neighbours and police and judges say, 'That's fine by me,’ is life worth living? What about the people who don't think it's okay? Are there enough of them in the world?"
"Aesthetic Enthusiasm" - The final part of Levy's essay is the shortest. Here she sums up her thoughts on why she, this woman, writes.
"We [women] were on the run from the lies concealed in the language of politics, from myths about our character and our purpose in life. We were on the run from our own desires too probably, whatever they were. It was best to laugh it off. The way we laugh. At our own desires. The way we mock ourselves. Before anyone else can. The way we are wired to kill. Ourselves. it doesn't bear thinking about. I did not want to know that I had been shut down. . .
"To become a writer, I had to learn to interrupt, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and then louder, and then to just speak in my own voice which is not loud at all."
"What do we do with knowledge that we cannot bear to live with? What do we do with the things we do not want to know?"
In Levy's case, she writes.
"Political Purpose" - In her meandering way Levy explores the role of woman/mother.
"chased by the women we used to be before we had children. We didn't really know what to do with her, this fierce, independent young woman who followed us about, shouting and pointing the finger while we wheeled our buggies in the English rain."
"Motherhood was an institution fathered by masculine consciousness. This male consciousness was male unconsciousness. It needed its female partners who were also mothers to stamp on her own desires and attend to his desires, and then to everyone else's desires. We had a go at cancelling our own desires. and found we had a talent for it."
"When a female writer walks a female character in to the centre of her literary enquiry . . . she will have to find a language that is in part to do with learning how to become a subject rather than a delusion, and in part to do with unknotting the ways in which she has been put together by the societal system in the first place. She will have to be canny how she sets about doing this because she will have many delusions of her own. In fact it would be best if she was uncanny when she sets about doing this. It's exhausting to learn ow to become a subject, it's hard enough learning how to become a writer."
I appreciate the points Levy makes. She does not, however, tie these thoughts together; and I feel dissatisfied as I move on to Part 2
"Historical Impulse" - Having recently read Damon Galgut's The Promise, I especially appreciate these reminiscences of the first 9 years of Levy's life spent in South Africa, especially the 4+ years during the period her father was a political prisoner. Apartheid, racism, and sexism are more of the things that Levy wishes she doesn't know about. And yet these are the meat of many histories with which societies are grappling.
"There was something I was beginning to understand at seven years old. It was to do with not feeling safe with people who were supposed to be safe. The clue was that even though Mr Sinclair [the school principal] was white and a grown-up and had his name written in gold letters on the door of his office, I was definitely less safe with him than I was with the black children I had been spying on in the playground. The second clue was that the white children were secretly scared of the black children. They were scared because they threw stones and did other mean things to the black children. White people were afraid of black people because they had done bad things to them. If you do bad things to people, you do not fee safe. And if you do not feel safe, you do not feel normal. The white people were not normal in South Africa."
"Girls have to speak up cuz no one listens to them anyway."
"I had been told to say my thoughts out loud and not just in my head but I decided to write them down."
"Sheer Egoism" - In this essay I see 15 year-old Deborah Levy in her black straw hat and lime green platform shoes hanging out in a greasy spoon by the bus station trying to imitate the poets and philosophers who inhabited the French cafes in years past. She already had the living in Exile thing down pat as her family moved to the UK a few months after her father's release from prison. And then her parents separated some time after that.
"Writing made me feel wiser than I actually was. Wise and sad. That was what I thought writers should be."
Writing led her to questioning and she questions her homeland.
"I had so many questions to ask the world from my bedroom in West Finchley about the country I was born in. How do people become cruel and depraved? If you torture someone, are you mad or are you normal? If a white man sets his dog on a black child and everyone says that's okay, if the neighbours and police and judges say, 'That's fine by me,’ is life worth living? What about the people who don't think it's okay? Are there enough of them in the world?"
"Aesthetic Enthusiasm" - The final part of Levy's essay is the shortest. Here she sums up her thoughts on why she, this woman, writes.
"We [women] were on the run from the lies concealed in the language of politics, from myths about our character and our purpose in life. We were on the run from our own desires too probably, whatever they were. It was best to laugh it off. The way we laugh. At our own desires. The way we mock ourselves. Before anyone else can. The way we are wired to kill. Ourselves. it doesn't bear thinking about. I did not want to know that I had been shut down. . .
"To become a writer, I had to learn to interrupt, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and then louder, and then to just speak in my own voice which is not loud at all."
"What do we do with knowledge that we cannot bear to live with? What do we do with the things we do not want to know?"
In Levy's case, she writes.
November 20, 2021
There were many times while reading that I leaned in eagerly, feeling that Deborah Levy could eloquently express things that had been a real struggle for me also. Her essays enthralled me and I intend to read more of her work.
Favorite quotes:
One - Political Purpose
"When happiness is happening it feels as if nothing else happened before it, it is a sensation that happens only in the present tense." This is so true. I have come to understand this and have learned to let go and truly enjoy the moment.
"To speak up is not about speaking louder, it is about feeling entitled to voice a wish." This speaks to me personally.
Two - Historical Impulse
"What is a snowman? He is a round paternal presence built by children to watch over the house. He is weighty, full of substance, but he is also insubstantial, flimsy, spectral. I knew from the moment we gave him ginger biscuits for eyes that he had become a snow ghost." I had never thought about a snowman in this way. Something to ponder on.
Three - Sheer Egoism
"When love goes wrong, instead of seeing the front of things we saw the back of things. Our parents always walking away from each other. Making a separate lonely space even when they sat together at the family table. Both of them staring into the middle distance." This rang true for me in my experience of my parents' eventual rejection of each other and acrimonious divorce.
I was fascinated by the parallel between leaving the lids off jars, which infuriated their au pair and the sense of belonging together, then broadened to describe how her parents were separated like the jars from their lids. Levy writes, "The lids, like us, did not have a place. I was born in one country and grew up in another, but I was not sure which one I belonged to. And another thing. I did not want to know this thing, but I did know all the same. Putting a lid on was like pretending our mother and father were back together again, attached to each other instead of prised apart."
Four - Aesthetic Enthusiasm
"I had not expected to return to Africa while sheltering from a snowstorm in Majorca." It's extraordinary how memories seem to appear like a bolt out of the blue and leave us with a sense of longing for another time and place.
Favorite quotes:
One - Political Purpose
"When happiness is happening it feels as if nothing else happened before it, it is a sensation that happens only in the present tense." This is so true. I have come to understand this and have learned to let go and truly enjoy the moment.
"To speak up is not about speaking louder, it is about feeling entitled to voice a wish." This speaks to me personally.
Two - Historical Impulse
"What is a snowman? He is a round paternal presence built by children to watch over the house. He is weighty, full of substance, but he is also insubstantial, flimsy, spectral. I knew from the moment we gave him ginger biscuits for eyes that he had become a snow ghost." I had never thought about a snowman in this way. Something to ponder on.
Three - Sheer Egoism
"When love goes wrong, instead of seeing the front of things we saw the back of things. Our parents always walking away from each other. Making a separate lonely space even when they sat together at the family table. Both of them staring into the middle distance." This rang true for me in my experience of my parents' eventual rejection of each other and acrimonious divorce.
I was fascinated by the parallel between leaving the lids off jars, which infuriated their au pair and the sense of belonging together, then broadened to describe how her parents were separated like the jars from their lids. Levy writes, "The lids, like us, did not have a place. I was born in one country and grew up in another, but I was not sure which one I belonged to. And another thing. I did not want to know this thing, but I did know all the same. Putting a lid on was like pretending our mother and father were back together again, attached to each other instead of prised apart."
Four - Aesthetic Enthusiasm
"I had not expected to return to Africa while sheltering from a snowstorm in Majorca." It's extraordinary how memories seem to appear like a bolt out of the blue and leave us with a sense of longing for another time and place.
June 22, 2021
Neste primeiro volume da sua trilogia autobiográfica, Deborah Levy reflecte sobre o que é ser mulher, mãe e simultaneamente escritora.
«É esgotante uma mulher aprender como se há de tornar um sujeito, e é bastante duro aprender como se há de tornar escritora.»
«[O neopatriarcado do século XXI] exigia que fôssemos passivas mas ambiciosas, maternais mas eroticamente enérgicas, desprendidas, mas realizadas – tínhamos de ser Mulheres Modernas Fortes embora estivéssemos sujeitas a todo o tipo de humilhações, tanto económicas como domésticas. Apesar de quase sempre nos sentirmos culpadas de tudo, não sabíamos ao certo o que tínhamos feito de errado»
«Mesmo a escritora mais arrogante tem de fazer horas extraordinárias a fim de construir um ego suficientemente robusto para sobreviver a janeiro, já para não dizer até dezembro. Oiço o ego duramente conquistado de Duras falar comigo, comigo, comigo, em todas as estações.»
Deborah Levy nasceu na África do Sul, viveu o apartheid e assistiu à prisão do seu pai, membro do Congresso Nacional Africano que o governo tinha proibido por lutar pelos direitos humanos. Em 1975, a família muda-se para Inglaterra; adolescente, Levy tentava não pensar que a África do Sul tinha feito parte da sua vida e vê este novo país como uma oportunidade de praticar ser feliz, apesar da mãe lhe dizer que estavam no exílio e um dia regressariam.
Há lugares que não queremos voltar a visitar e quando estamos convencidos que não estamos a pensar no passado, o passado está a pensar em nós. E as lágrimas brotam.
«(…) olhei para as paredes a verificar onde estavam as tomadas para poder ligar o portátil. (…) Naquela primavera em Maiorca, quando a vida era muito dura e eu não conseguia ver para onde havia de ir, ocorreu-me que o meu objetivo era aquela tomada. Ainda mais útil para uma escritora do que um quarto que seja só seu é uma extensão e vários adaptadores para a Europa, Ásia e África.»
«É esgotante uma mulher aprender como se há de tornar um sujeito, e é bastante duro aprender como se há de tornar escritora.»
«[O neopatriarcado do século XXI] exigia que fôssemos passivas mas ambiciosas, maternais mas eroticamente enérgicas, desprendidas, mas realizadas – tínhamos de ser Mulheres Modernas Fortes embora estivéssemos sujeitas a todo o tipo de humilhações, tanto económicas como domésticas. Apesar de quase sempre nos sentirmos culpadas de tudo, não sabíamos ao certo o que tínhamos feito de errado»
«Mesmo a escritora mais arrogante tem de fazer horas extraordinárias a fim de construir um ego suficientemente robusto para sobreviver a janeiro, já para não dizer até dezembro. Oiço o ego duramente conquistado de Duras falar comigo, comigo, comigo, em todas as estações.»
Deborah Levy nasceu na África do Sul, viveu o apartheid e assistiu à prisão do seu pai, membro do Congresso Nacional Africano que o governo tinha proibido por lutar pelos direitos humanos. Em 1975, a família muda-se para Inglaterra; adolescente, Levy tentava não pensar que a África do Sul tinha feito parte da sua vida e vê este novo país como uma oportunidade de praticar ser feliz, apesar da mãe lhe dizer que estavam no exílio e um dia regressariam.
Há lugares que não queremos voltar a visitar e quando estamos convencidos que não estamos a pensar no passado, o passado está a pensar em nós. E as lágrimas brotam.
«(…) olhei para as paredes a verificar onde estavam as tomadas para poder ligar o portátil. (…) Naquela primavera em Maiorca, quando a vida era muito dura e eu não conseguia ver para onde havia de ir, ocorreu-me que o meu objetivo era aquela tomada. Ainda mais útil para uma escritora do que um quarto que seja só seu é uma extensão e vários adaptadores para a Europa, Ásia e África.»
October 6, 2024
Ci sono frasi, in queste 140 paginette scarse, che andrebbero incorniciate. Qua e là, en passant, Levy scrive cose infuocate, lucidissime.
A volte, come sulla maternità e la condizione della donna, arriva a pronunciare l'impronunciabile.
Mi fermo a tre sole stelle perché per certi versi m'è parsa troppo scritta, troppo orchestrata - la cornice di Maiorca che racchiude l'infanzia in Sudafrica, alcuni passaggi quasi narrativi, la ricerca romanzesca di ordine e coincidenze -.
Qui e là l'ho letta comparata a Cusk, e con Ernaux è inevitabile il confronto. Per mio gusto preferisco la precisione quasi gelida dell'autrice francese alle divagazioni caotiche e non sempre concludenti dell'inglese.
Levy mi sembra una riuscita via di mezzo: se nei prossimi libri della trilogia ci sarà più spazio per le sue riflessioni personali e queste saranno al livello di quelle racchiuse in Cose che non voglio sapere, sono certo che la trilogia sarà tra le migliori letture di quest'anno.
E sì, ho già aperto la prima facciata de Il costo della vita.
A volte, come sulla maternità e la condizione della donna, arriva a pronunciare l'impronunciabile.
Mi fermo a tre sole stelle perché per certi versi m'è parsa troppo scritta, troppo orchestrata - la cornice di Maiorca che racchiude l'infanzia in Sudafrica, alcuni passaggi quasi narrativi, la ricerca romanzesca di ordine e coincidenze -.
Qui e là l'ho letta comparata a Cusk, e con Ernaux è inevitabile il confronto. Per mio gusto preferisco la precisione quasi gelida dell'autrice francese alle divagazioni caotiche e non sempre concludenti dell'inglese.
Levy mi sembra una riuscita via di mezzo: se nei prossimi libri della trilogia ci sarà più spazio per le sue riflessioni personali e queste saranno al livello di quelle racchiuse in Cose che non voglio sapere, sono certo che la trilogia sarà tra le migliori letture di quest'anno.
E sì, ho già aperto la prima facciata de Il costo della vita.
January 10, 2022
An esteemed writer finds herself unable to ride escalators without being moved to tears by the overwhelming sensation of being carried forwards whilst remaining still.
In this feminist response to Orwell's 'Why I Write' Levy meditates on what it takes to continue on as a writer, a woman, a mother. Escaping London to Mallorca where subversive French author George Sand once stayed with Chopin, she ruminates on old journals, losing herself in herself in a way only writers can. Looping through time and place she explores her childhood as the daughter of a political prisoner at the height of South African Apartheid, followed by a lonely displaced teenagehood in England and finally her place in the 'Societal Skeleton' as a woman, ergo a wife and mother. Her own desires unclear she seeks to escape these many confining roles; but as a white child during apartheid she learnt early on that what benefits one can come at great cost to another and often ourselves, that injustice is visceral and inescapable.
I adored everything about the first instalment of this Autobiographical trilogy, rich with literary and historical references Levy quietly rebels against the constraints of gender and genre capturing moments so poignantly specific they paint a vivid larger portrait of life. Memories echo through conversations with strangers, travels transport us to the past as time and experience blur and repeat. An admirable and moving vulnerability shines through, a revolt in itself.
In this feminist response to Orwell's 'Why I Write' Levy meditates on what it takes to continue on as a writer, a woman, a mother. Escaping London to Mallorca where subversive French author George Sand once stayed with Chopin, she ruminates on old journals, losing herself in herself in a way only writers can. Looping through time and place she explores her childhood as the daughter of a political prisoner at the height of South African Apartheid, followed by a lonely displaced teenagehood in England and finally her place in the 'Societal Skeleton' as a woman, ergo a wife and mother. Her own desires unclear she seeks to escape these many confining roles; but as a white child during apartheid she learnt early on that what benefits one can come at great cost to another and often ourselves, that injustice is visceral and inescapable.
I adored everything about the first instalment of this Autobiographical trilogy, rich with literary and historical references Levy quietly rebels against the constraints of gender and genre capturing moments so poignantly specific they paint a vivid larger portrait of life. Memories echo through conversations with strangers, travels transport us to the past as time and experience blur and repeat. An admirable and moving vulnerability shines through, a revolt in itself.
Read
December 5, 2016I'm probably an awful listener because I never listen to recommendations about books, never. It's just something special I'm looking for in books and people don't always know what it is and I can't usually explain it. A colleague of mine recommended Deborah Levy's novels again and again and I never considered reading them even for twenty seconds because I'm in a big non-fiction period. Then walking out of a book store last month I looked at my pile of five books by favourite writers and I picked that one up on a whim and half-guiltily because I'd like to introduce more new names to my shelves.
I've spent 5 days reading this skinny thing only because I wanted it to last longer. I've had the great luck to read some remarkable books in 2016 and this is one of the best. Its language is so delicious and deliriously simple. It tells a story about apartheid, confusion, childhood desires and fears, and the impulse to write. I cried and I raged and I smiled and I recognized so much of it. Read it.
I've spent 5 days reading this skinny thing only because I wanted it to last longer. I've had the great luck to read some remarkable books in 2016 and this is one of the best. Its language is so delicious and deliriously simple. It tells a story about apartheid, confusion, childhood desires and fears, and the impulse to write. I cried and I raged and I smiled and I recognized so much of it. Read it.
February 19, 2021
This short collection of essays is a response to the question George Orwell posed in his essay "Why I Write." Through glimpses of her own history and life, Levy examines "4 great motives for writing" (political purpose, historical impulse, sheer egoism, aesthetic enthusiasm) in a clear, compelling voice.
September 6, 2018
This really wasn't for me. I feel like I'm the unpopular opinion on this one because it has so many positive reviews, but I just didn't totally get it.
I feel like this was more autobiographical than I expected. I knew this was part memoir but the actual process of writing was barely touched on - or maybe it was just so subtle that it went over my head. Levy does have a way with words and images, and perhaps it's my own fault that her reflections on life and writing didn't resonate with me on either an intellectual or emotional level.
It's not a bad book, but I didn't enjoy it unfortunately.
I feel like this was more autobiographical than I expected. I knew this was part memoir but the actual process of writing was barely touched on - or maybe it was just so subtle that it went over my head. Levy does have a way with words and images, and perhaps it's my own fault that her reflections on life and writing didn't resonate with me on either an intellectual or emotional level.
It's not a bad book, but I didn't enjoy it unfortunately.
June 28, 2019
geçenlerde öykülerini okuouğum levy'nin son derece özgün, içten anlatısı... orta yaşta içine düştüğü bunalımdan kurtulmak için gittiği mallorca'da başlayıp çocukluğunun güney afrika'sına, oradan göçtükleri ingiltere'ye, oradan da tekrar mallorca'ya bağlanıyor. neredeyse kurmaca denecek kadar iyi bağlanmış anılar ve düşünceler... kadınlıktan, annelikten yola çıkıp ırkçılığa, işçiliğe, yazar olmaya kadar uzanıyor. çok sade, çok naif... özellikle çocukluğunu anlattığı bölüm bir novella sayılır.
February 22, 2018
Just incredible! Review to follow.
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