Yesterday I went for a walk to Holland Park and back. It was lovely to spend time walking through Kyoto Garden and around Dutch House. At the park, I noticed a woman ahead of me wearing a maroon coat, flowing grey trousers and tan shoes with maroon socks. My heart leaped with joy at the matching coat and socks, a visual treat. I miss catching glimpses of fabulously dressed Londoners on a daily basis.
On my walk I listened to the final episode of You’re Wrong About’s Princess Diana series. I started listening to You’re Wrong About at the beginning of the first lockdown thanks to a recommendation from my friend Shahla Haque. The podcast has been the soundtrack to most of my walks this year and I have learned so much over the months thanks to it. The Stepford Wives episode remains a favourite of mine.
I’m getting excited about my life writing course which is starting next week. I just finished working on the second email and I hope writers find them useful. If you are interested, you can sign up for the free course via this link. Working on this has reminded me of some of my favourite nonfiction writing in recent years. A book I keep returning to and recommend as often as I can is Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls by T Kira Madden. I read this book when it first came out and I am yet to recover from the twists and turns Madden’s journey takes. I’m also a big fan of Madden’s online presence and discovered Grace Paley through this beautiful image.
I’m still on limited reading routine and working my way slowly through Paley’s fantastic short story collection titled Enormous Changes at the Last Minute. It was reviewed by NYT in 1974 and the opening paragraph reads as below:
In one of the droller of these 15 short stories, called “A Conversation With My Father,” Grace Paley sweetly explains to her Pushkin‐quoting, plot‐loving octogenarian father that her stories don't have plots because she truly believes that invented characters, like real people, “deserve the open destiny of life.” Clearly, if Paley's characters could do what they wanted to, they would march right off these mishap‐burdened pages; but I do think that statement accounts, in part, for the wonderfully extemporaneous quality of her stories, and for the honest, unsentimental way that they depict people's —particularly. women's—lives.
I’m also fascinated by Paley’s life, her unwavering convictions and the choices she made both in her writing and her life. She reminds of another writer I hugely admire: Penelope Mortimer. I’ve ordered battered copies of Mortimer’s now out of print memoirs and look forward to reading them soon. On audiobook I’m really enjoying On Chapel Sands by Laura Cumming, read by the author herself and beautifully so. It’s a memoir of the time her mother was briefly kidnapped in her early childhood and the secrets that unravel from this hidden truth.
Things continue to be busy at work but the promise of a quiet year-end is a balm. Earlier in the week my father asked if I would visit home over the holidays. For various reasons I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to travel internationally but the thought has left me feeling nostalgic for home and childhood. Every little thing is reminding me of both. While rubbing a towel over my wet hair this morning I was reminded of my parents doing the same for me when I was a child, my daily tasks now ending in wistful sighs. I’m missing the salty sea air and the sound of crashing waves. I’m missing the taste of hot chickpeas fused with tangy pickled vegetables from street vendors and the sizzle of deep fried fish being served on a big plate of rice, a meal that tastes best when surrounded by loved ones.
I’m not a person who is consistent in her habits and this year I’ve been working hard to keep up with things I believe in. So far I’ve failed at them all, most notably with writing regularly, praying on time and remembering to eat healthy. I didn’t want to write this week’s letter but right now it’s the only constant in my life, the only promise to myself that I’ve not broken. And I don’t want to lose that, not yet. It’s a difficult year, and I’m mindful of going easy on myself but also scared that I’m making excuses. I’m working on finding the right balance.
We are nearing the end of lockdown 2.0 here in England. On TV I’m enjoying The Undoing and This Is Us. Some books that arrived in the last few weeks that I’m looking forward to reading:
Lucifer Over London by a host of authors including Chloe Aridjis, Viola di Grado, Xiaolu Guo, Joanna Walsh and Zinovy Zinik
Milk Blood Heat by Dantiel W. Moniz
Whites: On Race and Other Falsehoods by Otegha Uwagba
You Exist Too Much by Zaina Arafat
What Are You Going Through by Sigrid Nunez
Hangsman by Shirley Jackson
To Be a Man by Nicole Krauss
That’s all from me. I hope you are feeling safe and finding moments of joy.
Zeba
I went through a time in my life where I used to match the socks and the colour of my headscarf (it started off unconsciously and then became a habit) - it made me smile to read you noticed that!
Even though you wrote this beautiful piece long back, it feels relevant, Zeba. I have loved the way you write. you always leave your readers a bit of recommended reads. I fail to catch up with them all but it is always a delight to have them in your posts. Hope you are well! take care