Book Review: Learned by Heart by Emma Donoghue

This rather unsettling story is of rascism, class, a woman’s ‘place’, rigid rules of conduct and gender. It is of Anne Lister and Eliza Raine, two young girls in a boarding school in England between 1806 and 1815. Donoghue writes it in letters from Eliza to Anne with four chapters telling the story of school life. In the late 1700’s, Eliza and her sister Jane, were borne of mixed parentage in India, and sent ‘home’ to England when their father died. Little is known about their mother. They were put in the care their father’s colleague, a Dr. Duffin. 

Eliza enters Miss Hargrave’s Manor School, a girl’s school, before Anne Lister. When Anne Lister comes to the school, full of mischief, energy and knowledge, Eliza’s life changes dramatically. By apparent accident, the two girls share a room they called ‘the Slope’. It was just big enough for two cots and had a sloped roof. Anne immediately fell in love with Eliza but their intimate relationship developed slowly. Eliza had been raised with little knowledge of relationships, let alone with someone of the same sex. There were whispers about other older single women, but for the girls the Manor School it was unimaginable.

Emma Donoghue is graphic about the Eliza and Anne’s private relationship, but also stories the lengths they had to go to keep it a secret when with their classmates. Anne, raised with two brothers, was rough and tumble and disliked following such rules. Eliza was the one who seemed to keep a check on Anne. If they were out on the grounds on their own, it was a much more difficult task. Eliza had fun those times, but always afraid of being caught doing inappropriate things, like climbing old ruins that Anne seemed to know the history of. In their last escapade, Anne broke her leg. Because she could not be cared for at the Manor, she was sent home.
The girls continued writing to each other, however Eliza, her heart broken, realized that Anne had many more relationships and theirs was not to be.

Of interest is the Author’s Note following the end the novel.  Eliza Raine, Anne Lister and many of the characters in Learned by Heart are historical figures. Donoghue details the research she has done these characters. She has imagined the possible story between the two girls in Victorian, England and they challenges they faced at such a difficult age and time.

“the only lesson I learned, or at least the only lesson I remember, was you.”

~ Emma Donoghue, Learned by Heart

Title: Learned by Heart

Author: Emma Donoghue

Copyright: 2023

Publisher: Harper Avenue, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

Type: Fiction

Format: Hard cover

ISBN - 9781443470315  (hard cover)

ISBN - 20230460410 (Canadiana - ebook)

ISBN - 9781443470322 (ebook)

LCCN - PS8557.O559 L43 2023

Fast Moving Fragments

Could there be hippos in this pool of water?

Hungry hippos have really big teeth………and that’s all I’ll say about that! I’ve been muddling all day about how to approach this stem that I left for myself. Fragments of story flew through my head so fast I couldn’t catch them. I thought maybe if I researched the children’s game of Hungry Hungry Hippos it might jog some of them loose. More fast moving fragments. So I went on kidadl.com for information about hippos. Sadly, I learned that hippos are a violent species - not the cute brightly coloured hippos of the child’s game. They do eat grasses - 155lb (68 kg) - each day, are mostly herbivores and can hold their breath under water for up to five minutes.

Delving into research, any and all fragments vanished! So, tonight was not the night for a children’s story from this author.

“What a schmuck!”

~ Lemony Snicket,  The Bad Beginning

Afternoon Outing ~ Regina's Big Book Sale!!

Laundry, make the bed, do my exercises, feed the cat and go to the Big Book Sale. But as the morning wore on, it became afternoon. Afternoon ~ when I get kind of sleepy. My avoidance mechanism threatened. After all I don’t really need any more books. And I don’t have anymore book shelf space. They would be heavy and it’s really hot and I’ve never been there before and…….. listening to all that chatter was really getting annoying. Laundry done, no time to tidy the place ~ but that can wait ~ I’m not expecting company.

I saw the big blue and yellow Big Book Sale sign! I had arrived at the Highland Curling Club. People going inside empty and others coming out ~ bags of books leaving with them. Inside, where once were sheets of curling ice there were long rows and tables of books! Organized by author, categorized by type, children’s books, fiction, history, self help and so much more..… almost overwhelming. I wandered….picked up this book and that book….put them back. Then I thought of cook books. I pulled out the little map I was given when I arrived. Then, like a fridge magnet headed for the fridge door, I headed for its location. Right beside the Tally tables - that’s where they add up how many books you have and send you to the cashier. Do I need more cookbooks - well, these three, I do. I’ve never had one about Mustard, or about Barbecue tips, or about peppers. And they’re only small, I can fit them in …….

“Some books should be tasted, some devoured, 

but only a few should be chewed and digested thoroughly.”

~ Sir Francis Bacon

Book Review: Small beneath the Sky (a prairie memoir) by Lorna Crozier

Small beneath the Sky (a prairie memoir) fostered a very lively discussion at book club yesterday afternoon. Our own heavy Victoria snows did not keep anyone away. After all, most of us lived, walked and drove in prairie winters at one time. Some of us were even raised there in other corners of Saskatchewan. 

In just under two hundred pages, Lorna Crozier, a celebrated author, shows us the prairies and her growing up years. Intertwined, they can only be separated in poetry and in prose. Small beneath the Sky, a very fitting title for this slim volume, takes the reader through the generational turbulence of prairie life into her growing up years. 

Ms. Crozier certainly had ample reason for laying blame with alcoholism and poverty as much woven into her personal fabric as the effect of the prairies. She shies away from a ‘blame game’, however, telling the story of her early life, her parents and grandparents just as it was then. She speaks of her fierce love for her mother and father, despite their differences and failings. The 1950’s and 1960’s in the small southern Saskatchewan city of Swift Current were not unlike the experiences of many of us growing up in that time, whether in city neighbourhoods, farms on the prairies or any small town. 

Ms. Crozier states ‘…..I am indebted to Aristotle, who hypothesized that there must be something beyond the chain of cause and effect, something that started it all. He called this force the first cause.’ Her short poetic vignettes about prairie landscape and weather, woven through her own story, shows this reader that there are many ‘first causes’. Prairie weather shaped not only the land but the lives of immigrants and their families that planted and harvested our grains on this treeless, sky domed land.

“Wherever you go, you speak with the earth on your tongue, in the accent 

passed down for generations. It’s a lengthening of vowels, 

a dusty drawl thin enough to be carried some distance by the wind.”

~ Lorna Crozier, Small beneath the Sky (a prairie memoir)

Title: Small Beneath the Sky (a prairie memoir)

Author: Lorna Crozier

Copyright: 2009 by Lorna Crozier

Publisher: Greystone Books

Type: Paperback

Format: Memoir

ISBN: 978-1-155365-343-1 (cloth)

ISBN: 978-1-55365-577-0 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-1926812-27-4 (ebook)

Walking the Tracks

In my blog from October 6th, I wrote about what I called a Whirligig Weekend. The annual Victoria Festival of Authors, held from October 02 - 06, 2019, set my head spinning. And I only attended five of the eighteen scheduled events! Earlier in the week, I had other commitments which probably saved my poor brain from absolute overload.  I’ve titled this blog post ‘Walking the Tracks’ because of the photo on the front of the event booklet. My experience truly was ‘walking the tracks’ laid down by the authors that I was able to listen to. 

Starting Friday morning, all morning, I attended the Art of Storytelling to listen to author Richard Van Camp. Our small group, gathered around a long plank table, was all ready, pen in hand and lots of paper. Ready to hear the structure of storytelling that has won him success. Instead, we listened Richard’s stories and the wave that he took them through. Throughout he asked us for stories of our own which several of us shared. Was I disappointed that my ‘class room persona’ had not had a good work out? Maybe a little bit, but by listening to the flow of story I heard the Art of Storytelling.

Saturday was full. First on the schedule Riel Work: In Conversation with Jean Teillet & Gregory Scofield. Jean Teillet, the author of The North West is our Mother is an amazing speaker, is the grand niece of Louis Riel. She has an accurate story of Louis Riel and explained so much Canadian history from that time. 

The next event, before lunch and moderated by Robert Wiersema, was Immaculate History shared by graphic novelist Sarah Leavitt, poet Erin Mouré, and author Steven Price.The inspiration for their works were figures ~ legendary or real ~ taken from written history or personal experience. The crafting of these works in these diverse genres is quite amazing to me. 

Walking outside in the fresh air between events for lunch was to take a deep breath and revive some energy before diving into the afternoon’s event moderated by Marita Daschel: In the Beginning……with authors Carla Funk, Yasuko Thanh, Meenal Shrivastava, and Samra Zafar. Each author brought us works about the changes they had wrought in their lives. From various rigid childhood experiences to articulate and confident writers, each story was the same in the strength of character that they each found and developed. Different only in details and geography.

Sunday morning, the final event that we attended, was moderated by Robert Wiersema. Titled Wayfinding: Is that a path there? ‘The quest is one of the oldest plot devices going…….’ and is the focus for novelist Cherie Dimaline, poet Pauline Holdstock and debut novelist Karen McBride. Discussion about character development was the most interesting to me.

So, did I buy one of their books ~ some set for awards? Have you ever heard the phrase: ‘So many books, so little time?’ Well, I restrained myself and did not purchase any books in favour of the books I’m already reading. However I have the list of these books as the ‘next to read’ for me. The list is below so you can also add to your own ‘so many books’ list.  

“You can never get a cup of tea large enough 

or a book long enough to suit me.”

~ C.S.Lewis

Authors and Book List

Richard Van Camp: We Sang You Home - children’s book in Cree and English

Jean Teillet:  The North-West is Our Mother - accurate history of Louis Riel

Sarah Leavitt:  Agnes, Murderess - graphic novel

Erin Mouré:  The Elements - poetry

Steven Price:  Lampedusa - novel

Yasuko Thanh: Mistakes to Run With

Carla Funk: Every Little Scrap and Wonder

Meenal Shrivastava: Amma’s Daughters

Samra Zafar: A Good Wife

Cherie Dimaline: Empire of the Wild

Pauline Holdstock: Here I Am!

Karen McBride: Crow Winter

Whirligig Weekend!

Canadian Writers and Authors ~

Storytelling, poetry, prose 

history, fiction and memoir

Two days filled 

with creative voices and ideas......

More to come......

one more event this afternoon..

Phew!!! My brain is awhirl with fascination and new ideas!

“To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what 

it’s about, but the music the words make.”

~ Truman Capote, Truman Capote: Conversations

A Word Game

My words seem to have dashed away! 

Important or frivolous words gone! instead of jousting and playing with crossed swords of meaning and purpose. 

Importance too often wins over frivolity 

Frivolity smeared liberally between the heavy bricks of importance

builds something worth the time of day or week and month and year. 

Bricks of importance and privilege 

plus 

the mortar of frivolity with its own sort of privilege 

builds a whimsical house with 

a curvy sloped roof and a funny top hat chimney

puffing out smoke when the fire of passion is hot. 

There is only one leader of a country, 

one C.E.O. of an organization and 

    one famous author of each string of books

but 

a host of us ordinary folk 

living ordinary lives with 

little glitz or glamour

    make the world go ‘round 

        for the Really Important People 

    while doing frivolous things like 

     playing games with our children and going for ice cream.

We are :

Really Important Frivolous People

“The beginning of wisdom is the definition of terms.”

~ Socrates

Saturday Evening in Celebration

Our Canada. An evening of symphony and literature celebrating Canada’s 150th Birthday was an evening shared with friends. Alix Goolden Hall, a historic former church, was a fitting venue for this grand display of Canadian talent. The music was crashing and mellow, expansive and focussed. Between each piece authors charmed with readings from their works. It is a treat to hear brand new music, and even more satisfying that it was Canadian talent entertaining us with story, poetry, music and song. 

“I love Canada. It’s a wonderful political act of faith 

that exists atop a breathtakingly beautiful land.”

~ Yann Martel

An Ode to Christmas Past

Christmas day dawned bright and clear 

and so did children’s eyes. For days and weeks they’d prepped for this ~ A Santa Claus surprise! Decorate, bake, and gaily wrap gifts for beneath the Christmas tree ~ a tree all dressed in twinkling lights, silvery tinsel and an angel placed atop.

Creeping down the stairs 
in an early Christmas morn, 
to the glow of Christmas lights 
and silent night time snow 
To know Santa always visited, 
cookie crumbs remain, glass of milk was dry. Stockings filled, gifts laid out brought many delighted cries.

Then sadness struck a heavy blow ~ epilepsy shattered the scene. 
A brother dear, without warning 
fell violently from his seat.
Family pieces, like a Christmas puzzle, were strewn about the house, but like a puzzle never all picked up.

The next year came, then the next 
Christmas picture all askew. 
But not unseen was that terrible day 
when Christmas glow turned blue.

We grew, some flew taking Christmas traditions 

along to share with children of young families until…...

while baking and decorating at Christmas time
a knock came on the door. 
A greater tragedy struck!
Hope vanished with the news
the day when mother died. 
Shock felt that day I can’t unfeel. 
Raw edges ignored, were slowly scrubbed
then gently, softly sanded through time

This long time ago, each Christmas time,
Now mended, patched and stitched
with decoration and baking, gifts and cards
to honour those that are lost. 
These are the cracks in the picture 
mended with threads of silver and gold 
from the memories of early days ~
of creeping down morning stairs 
in light of early dawn. 
Silence of gently fallen snow, 
warmth of books and a Christmas puzzle
brings close a fading gentle time ~

Cracks from the great abyss of tragedies long ago 
tore families young, now growing old, have 
filled with golden warmth of hope 
in sore and tender hearts.

Christmas comes but once a year
or so the story’s told.
My story is with me all the year
along with Christmas gold.

“Faith is the seamstress

Who mends our torn belief

Who sews the hem of childhood trust

And clips the threads of grief.”

~ Joan Walsh Anglund

Author's note: Edited January 29, 2024

Book Launch - Money! The Meaning and Mystique ~ Making Sense of the Myths and Mystery behind Money

Launching a book into the public is no mean feat. Writing a book about finances is also no mean feat. Money! The Meaning and Mystique  ~ Making Sense of the Myths and Mystery behind Money written by Jennifer Thompson in collaboration with Shirley Grebinsky was the book launched this evening at The Bard and Banker on Government Street in Victoria. An addition to their collaboration is a small booklet Growing Up with Money a book written for young people to educate about money. The book launch was well attended by many friends and family. Following light dinners and drinks, Jennifer and Shirley spoke about the journey that they had been on for this project. Each author with a different focus, ultimately changed from the position of financial careers to present their work from the perspective of the client. I have yet to read this book, but look forward to reading their wisdom.

“The worth of a book is to be measured by what you can carry away from it.”

~ James Bryce

An Afternoon at Victoria Writer's Festival

“Sparks flew. The energy of the room changed. An aura of calm, dogged discussion had pervaded the committee room for the past week. With only one comment, severely edged with frustration, heads turned, pens and pencils dropped and chairs scraped away from the long scratched and well used boardroom table. Paper coffee cups, empty water pitchers, yellow legal pads and crumpled paper littered what was really just a work table.

The same thorny issue had been presented to them every day. Each morning the mundane housekeeping of the society was dispatched easily. As the week progressed, the issue took up more and more time. It was a Friday. A decision had to be made ~ how will we address Sex and Family Dynamics at the Writer’s Festival!”

*****

The above is my imagined sketch of just one of the meetings that would have occurred to establish this second annual Victoria Writer’s Festival. Fastidiously planned workshops and panels, a book launch and readings have carried attendees through story and poem. After attending two more sessions of the Victoria Writer’s Festival this afternoon with three friends and in the company of a host of writers, it was obvious that decisions made about Sex and Family were very successful. The Writers’s Festival began on October 17 and is, at this writing is just concluding. Gray skies, red and gold trees, and fallen leaves decorated the grounds of Camosun College, on the Lansdowne Campus where the majority of the Festival is being held.

Reading in Bed: Sex Between the Lines at 1 pm bluntly, but poetically, described ‘Prostitution, burlesque, Playboy Bunnies, ancient Greek hotness, eco-eroticism, and the minutiae of gay life’. It was followed by Love Familiar: Our Families, Ourselves at 2:45pm with readings of prose about ‘Family in fiction, in poetry and in a writer’s life: on boundaries, making strange, exposing, confirming, escaping, inventing and offering family’. Each author on both panels read from their literary works. Following questions from the facilitator, the panels answered questions from members of the audience about their experiences with writing.

“Don’t bend;don’t water it down;
don’t try to make it logical;
don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. 
Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.”

~ Franz Kafka

Dreaming from my Window Above

Dreaming from my 

Window Above

Could she be a world famous author? I could see her from my window on the world.  From this window overlooking the ocean, the view was not of cars hurrying and crowded rows of houses, but a world of flat, shimmering calm water, rocks swimming out from the low cliff.

Each day I watch as she walks the beach to a large outcropping of rocks laid bare by low tide.  As she strolls, she bends over as though to begin an exercise.  Rising gracefully, she stops, purposefully stretches her arm back, gaze on the water. Suddenly, her arm snakes forward.  Following the sudden movement with my own gaze, I see tiny splashes of foam rise up from the calm ocean.  “She’s skipping stones!”  

From my elevated distance, her age is indistinguishable. In miniature, her stature disguised. A teenager? An adult? But of what age? An aura of calm....possibly someone older? Measured steps suggest maturity.  Dark lenses glint when her face turns to the sun. 

I watch this tranquil scene until nudged by the intrusion of the beep-beeping of my wristwatch. Reluctantly, pulling my eyes away from the beach, I review and re-enter the day’s schedule.  

But was she a world famous author?  I don’t really know.  The only thing I know is that when she reaches the giant log wedged against the low cliff, she sits down. Arranging herself, she becomes engrossed in something on her lap. I recognize the posture.  

In a similar posture, at my desk, I write interminable reports and memos. Head bowed, arms resting on the desk's edge, hands holding my work; I stop briefly to stare at nothingness searching for the next right word or phrase.  

The difference?  She sits on a bare log, on the beach and in the sun.  I sit in air conditioned comfort in an ergonomically correct chair, behind a solid oak desk. Dreaming at my living room window at home, overlooking ocean, beach, and tide, I see a very different reason to write. 

At my broad oak desk, I write for someone else.  Up here in my ivory tower, I will write for my own pleasure. 

“So many of our dreams at first seem impossible, then they seem improbable,

and then when we summon the will, they soon become inevitable.”

~ Christopher Reeves