Navigating Open Country
Where I find adventure in the mundane...
Dear reader,
Hello again! I hope that this letter finds you well. If, like me, your experience of these past few weeks was somewhat at the mercy of fickle British weather, I hope you have finally enjoyed some consistent sunshine! Wherever this letter finds you, I want to once again express just how blessed I feel that you have chosen to allow my rambling thoughts to occupy some of your day!
This second letter may feel (well actually is!) slightly belated. I know that any reasons I provide may provoke some serious eye-rolling if you are someone who knows me (and my procrastinatory tendencies!) in real life, so I assure you that I will not feed your cynicism any further by opening with a list of excuses!
However, what I will say is that there is a strange pressure that comes with writing my second letter to you. Having reread my first, I think I can probably put a finger on why – I am sure you noticed it too! I spent much of that letter waxing poetic (surprise, surprise!) about my reasons for writing, but never truly touched on what fulfilling those purposes would look like for the contents of each letter. I really did promise much and deliver little (or, as a good friend pointed out to my amusement, I promised ramblings and delivered just that!). While I am overwhelmed by the enthusiasm and anticipation that greeted me through your response, I am now confronted by the sheer extent of my own expectations for this correspondence! I have a readership (eek!). I am not a lonely tree falling silent and unseen! But, as I suspected, I am now very aware of the company – that at any point someone could yell ‘timber!’.
Potential sidekicks have shown themselves, intrigued (to my thrilled disbelief) by the vague adventure I promised. Yet I can’t help but fear that the adventure may not be quite as exciting in reality as you were led to believe. As I touched on in that first letter, I find myself suspended in that strange liminal period between finishing my degree and moving on to a life outside of government funding. While I take great joy in my ability to live out my Austenian fantasies (particularly when the sun chooses to grace us with its presence!) I am aware that not much else is happening besides my frolicking, and even that feels slightly repetitive now! And of course, the Austenian lifestyle is certainly not everyone’s fantasy – I’m sure many of you probably raise a hearty ‘aye’ to Charlotte Bronte’s verdict when presented with the Austen novel: a menial, ‘carefully fenced’ existence, which possessed nothing of the ‘open country’ she required to be satisfied in her reading. To be sure, what is an adventure without ‘open country’ to explore?
Pondering this (entirely self-imposed) dilemma, it suddenly occurred to me that, in all the subjectivity of our defining this vague pursuit known as ‘adventure’, Bronte and I seem to seek it in the same place: books! If there is one activity romanticised above all across Austen’s extensive work, it is reading. I am not sure any of us desire to heartily echo the often-misdirected wisdom of Caroline Bingley, but I have to agree with her exclamation – ‘there is no enjoyment like reading!’. Enjoying an Austenian lifestyle is therefore to revolve around the world of a good book, and in that sense I have been surrounded by much ‘open country’ of late. So, I thought what better way to set off on a great adventure than to reminisce with those who would like to accompany me of past escapades I have enjoyed. The two adventures I have included here are brief, set in country that makes for a short, but enriching visit - I managed my visits within a day! I hope that as I share these recent escapades with you, in the spirit of our correspondence, you feel inspired to share some of your own beloved bookish worlds with me too!
Breakfast at Tiffany’s – Truman Capote
I first read this iconic novella briefly from my college library for A-Level Literature and have since longed to own a copy of it within my collection of 20th century classics. Blackwells bookshop came to the rescue, and I found a lovely copy that I practically devoured in the same day! Thus began a week-long affair with Capote’s chic take on 1940s New York, and furtive encounters with one of the most enigmatic heroines I have encountered: Holly Golightly.
There is so much to be said of this novella, but I will endeavour to be concise! If you have not read the book itself, I am sure you are familiar with the images of Audrey Hepburn in her little black dress and pearls, delicately carrying a cigarette holder. Certainly, the 1961 film greatly engages the romantic undertones of the novella, becoming a timeless tale of love conquering fear in a quest for identity. However, once I read it for myself, I was struck by the great irony of adapting the work for screen during the most glamorous period of Hollywood’s recent history, and even having such a prolific actress and renowned beauty as its heroine. The lifestyle of Golightly and her menagerie definitely claims opulence, rubbing shoulders and sharing drinks with supposed millionaires - as would the regularity with which she dines out or throws a party! However, it quickly becomes clear that hers is a tacky opulence, and largely material: the same apartment which boasts millionaire company is strewn with unemptied suitcases in an aptly described ‘fly-by-night’ aesthetic, and the lifestyle Golightly maintains is largely funded by mafia involvement and her work as an escort. Almost immediately, Capote establishes a disconnect between the initial impression and the reality of Golightly’s circumstances, a dichotomy that establishes the layers of facades which the rest of the novella is concerned with stripping away (to an extent, anyway!). Therefore, to adapt the work for Hollywood stardom is to only add another in a series of pretty masks to cover the otherwise heartbreaking truth of Golightly’s life.
This truth at the centre of Golightly’s character is cleverly epitomised by the many masks encountered by the reader. As her agent speculates toward the start of the book, at a party in her apartment, ‘maybe she don’t know herself anymore’. Indeed, it transpires that English was never her first language, nor her clothes her own, and she was no more than fifteen when she began to be ‘modelled’ into her iconic persona. Even Golightly herself is a highly stylised mask! She comes to embody the dichotomy of tacky opulence she creates: a child feigning maturity; a girl playing woman. The impression of innocence she still emmanates is jarring, especially because of what it is implied she has seen. The adventure across the rest of the book is watching these curated impressions crack, and catching glimpses of the real girl behind the masks.
Of course, though I was captivated by the intriguing unravelling of the mysterious Holly Golightly, the metropolitan existence Capote introduces us to is not to everyone’s taste. A friend recently bought the novella upon my eager recommendation, during the week I could not seem to keep my nose out of 1940s New York. Sadly, his was not so favourable a review. Quietly profound on a level that, on the surface, could register as a merely pedestrian style, with great emphasis on dialogue, it is not for everyone. If, like my friend, more lyrical works present to you the kind of ‘open country’, often literally, you prefer to roam, this may not be an adventure you are naturally drawn to. However, I still think that, if you desire to adventure outside of familiarity, this is certainly an interesting start!
The Great Divorce – C.S. Lewis
From mysterious psychological landscapes to theological ones, I recently found myself enthralled by the master of Christian allegory: C.S. Lewis. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that, besides adoring The Chronicles of Narnia as a child and slowly working my way through Mere Christianity as a teenager (which I recommend fervently to everyone!), my experience of Lewis’ work before this term was very limited. I picked up The Great Divorce on a somewhat gloomy day at the end of May, again having sought refuge from tiresome revision within the hallowed walls of Blackwells bookshop (conveniently just opposite the Bodleian library!). I am so glad I did. Almost as soon as I brought it home, having taken up my sprawling position on our sofa, tea in hand, and read the first page of his prologue, I was enthralled.
The novella follows a miscellaneous group of people on a bus journey from what is at first a seemingly mysterious twilight-zone – ‘the grey town’ – to a kingdom of light: from Hell to Heaven. In his preface, Lewis intentionally denounces any kind of doctrinal claims which could be made through this structure, instead positing the work as an exercise in theological imagination. And it certainly makes you think! I was struck by Lewis’ characterisation – the voyagers feel quintessentially human in ways that I was quick to recognise in those I know, and more jarringly, in myself. They engage in petty squabbles, are quick to resent one another, and carry an inherent cynicism that I could not help but chuckle along with. It is this clever insight into the ridiculousness of humanity’s relational predispositions that sets up the frustrating and frankly heartbreaking events of the rest of the book. As they reach their destination in the beautiful open country of the eternal kingdom, it becomes clear that these vices in personality stand as obstacles to their entering it. Time after time, it is reinforced that these travellers have the choice to stay and become a part of the kingdom of light if they so choose, and yet within minutes of arriving some have already returned to the bus. Encountering those who already reside in the kingdom indicates that the existence of the visitors is illusionary, and terminal. The kingdom offers true, tangible and eternal life, but the travelling group persistently refuses – or are in fact unable – to acknowledge it.
One of the most frustrating and deeply saddening conversations occurs in chapter 5, between two individuals who had clearly been intellectual sparring partners in life. The visitor, nicknamed the ‘Episcopal Ghost’, mockingly berates their kingdom-dwelling friend for coming to believe in ‘a literal heaven and hell’ toward the end of their life. Of course, when told by his friend that the place he now presides in is known to them as ‘Hell’, he launches into a defence against such ‘profane’ and fundamentalist nonsense. The intellectual pride that was the source of much humour for the reader on the bus journey is now shown to be what it always was: a self-inflicted blind spot, obscuring the true possibility of salvation and eternal life. Even when offered companionship on the journey into the kingdom itself, the Episcopal Ghost continues to talk of interpretation and self-centred belief. The reality of Heaven offered to him is obscured by his own practiced deconstruction of everything he hears to bolster his own intellectual prowess. The beauty of Heaven, comfort of companionship, and relationship with God are offered to him again and again, in tangible ways, and yet he walks away: ‘Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.’ And, of course, as a reader you are powerless to stop him.
Upon finishing I was struck by just how clearly Lewis imagined that the gates of Hell are locked from the inside - how easy it is to be blinded by our own pride and stubborn dispositions from Truth itself. Lewis’ vision of Heaven is beautiful, and the amused, gentle and patient personas of the kingdom-natives acted as a precious counterpoint to the blind self-importance of the travellers. If you are a Christian, you would recognise this quiet joy and peace as only coming from knowing Jesus. Their conversation was soaked in it! I wish I could say I more often resemble those residing in Heaven to those visitors, but I finished the book reeling with the inexpressible joy that I can experience the beauty of Heaven even now, and the longing to see others join me too! It was more than a novella. It was an invitation to adventure further into the open country of walking with God that I have already started to explore – and I hope that it would stir a desire to start this exploration for anyone who reads it!
These are merely a couple of the literary landscapes I have been roaming of late (I of course need to save the others for another time when I am behind on this correspondence!). However, I hope that you have enjoyed a small glimpse of the recent open country I have enjoyed, and are even looking forward to sharing in the adventure! That is the joy of a great read: not only do they provide exciting country to explore in themselves, but they also transform the landscape of your own life in the process. To return to Lewis’ literary wisdom, this time from his essay Of Other Worlds, ‘[A child] does not despise real woods because he has read of enchanted woods: the reading makes all real woods a little enchanted.’ In the same way, to live life in constant contact with literary worlds transforms even the mundanity of my liminal existence into a daily adventure. I am very excited that you are here to share it with me!
Yours,
Hannah
P.S. Here is proof of my Austenian frolicking, just in case it sounds like I spend all my time in bookish worlds and not the real one! Choice of open country: the gorgeous Blenheim Palace!
