| History from the Middle and Wisdom from Somewhere Towards the End |
June 22, 2010
W.W. Norton has reissued two of Diana Athill's early memoirs, in response to the huge popularity of Somewhere
Towards the End, her latest memoir (I won't say last -- Athill is in her nineties now and appears to be going strong). Instead
of a Letter and After a Funeral both provide interesting history and background for the stunning Somewhere Towards the End, (which I read and reviewed last July --see below) but cannot match its quiet brilliance. What Athill does so well in Somewhere Towards the End is share discrete moments from her life that illustrate larger aspects of England, sex, love, family, commitment, publishing, and the meaning of life. Instead of a Letter and After a Funeral are older memoirs written by a younger woman still honing her skills not only of observation but of story-telling. It is also somewhat disconcerting to read Athill's writings from earlier in her life because although I knew where her life was going, the younger Diana of course could not foresee where her honesty, compassion, passion, and forthrightness would take her.
Instead of a Letter tells the story of Athill's youth up through the breaking off of an engagement by her fiance Paul in her early twenties and her subsequent recovery from the shock of losing him, first through his betrayal and then through his early death. Athill begins this memoir with the story of sitting beside her grandmother's deathbed, and being asked by the old woman about life: "Do you really think it has been worth something?" No surprise that the redoubtable Athill answers by the end of the book in the affirmative. Nevertheless, the stories in between seem to bear little relation to either the deathbed question in the first chapter or the answer provided in the last chapter, that: "the knowledge that everything will still be going on is the answer." The value of Instead of a Letter is not in its wisdom (that will come out in Somewhere Towards the End), but in its recording of moments from the life lived by this wonderfully vibrant, self-examining but outwardly-focused, and intelligent woman. That she is also an engaging writer only sweetens the moments spent reading about her experiences, minor and major, in a life of reading, loving, and caring.
In After the Funeral, there are echoes of the Athill to come but the memoir also raises the question of why this particular story -- a story of misery leading to tragedy -- was told. The memoir is about Athills' relationship with Didi, a man she met and fell in love with in the 1960s. Didi was an exiled writer from Egypt, an enigmatic charmer from a wealthy family that fell on hard times. Athill fell out of love fairly quickly but remained a good friend to Didi. In fact, she became Didi's only real support system as, poverty-stricken and unable to hold a job, he suffered through bouts of severe depression, undergoing cycles of mania and let-down. His self-destructive flings and forays left collateral damage scattered among friends, lovers, employers, and his flatmate, Athill. Her patience with Didi and her stalwart friendship mark Athill as a great humanitarian and an even greater friend. Nevertheless, I could not help thinking that Didi would not have wanted the legacy of his sad life to be this memoir of his mental illness, his cruelty and self-obsession, his meaningless love affairs and his addictions to gambling and alcohol, and his suicide.
Athill tells of how Didi begged her to never reveal an incident that occurred between the two of them: "Of course I won't I promise," she tells him but she admits "I was already mulling in my head the written account, as exact as possible..." Can a writer reveal secrets promised to be kept private, all in the name of the memoir? After the Funeral is certainly a very honest and revealing character study that portrays the importance of human relationships and the terrible consequences when they fail, but it still left me feeling as if Didi had been betrayed by someone he trusted very much.
I admire Athill for always being so revealing and open and honest about herself. The question raised is does an author owe to friends and lovers, especially ones who are afflicted in mind and spirit, a little discretion and a touch of privacy? From a woman of such generosity and compassion, Athill's exposure of Didi after his death surprised me -- and her final sentence, "This
record has been written for him [Didi], and for people who are going to
have children" was neither apology nor justification.
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July 21, 2009
Yesterday I read Diana Athill's memoir Somewhere Towards the End, her treatise on what life has brought to her as she approaches the end of it (she is now ninety-one years old). The initial chapters on the waxing and waning of sexual desire and activity made me frown; I do not want to read a book about anyone's sex life. But her engaging writing -- conversational, clear, and amiable -- made me continue on and I was justly rewarded. I loved this book. Athill is a woman who understands herself, foibles, weaknesses, and strengths, and strives to understand the people and the moments of her life that have shaped her. She shares her stories, thoughts, and conclusions freely, creating almost a manual for living. It is a manual that comes not with instructions but with illustrations from one life's passage and its coming conclusion.
"Passage" is the key word: Athill demonstrates that life flows inexorably forward and that the best we can do is to move with it, to continue on because even for the very old, new and unexpected events can occur. Moments, even years, of pain can inflict themselves (for Athill, writing proved to be her best therapy for moving beyond the pain) but beauty comes again and again, to encourage, distract, enliven, or inspire.
For Athill, it is imperative that each individual find and define what it is that they enjoy, and not deny what it is that makes life interesting: for her brother, it was boating, for her mother, it was gardening, for Athill, it has been reading and writing, although the writing came late in life (there is no deadline by when anything must occur, cautions Athill: life can bring opportunity at any time). The activity or job or interest is important only in how it brings out the best in you: it need not be grand or important to the world or great in the eyes of others, just satisfying to yourself. Athill says of her aging brother, "What filled him as death approached ...was grief at having to say goodbye to what he could never have enough of." That is what life should be all about: filling our moments with all the people and interests and activities that we can never have enough of. Life is painful but fulfillment has never been found in enduring what hurts or bores or depresses: it is found in discovering joy. The last words Athill's mother spoke were about a drive she had just taken through the country: "It was divine." Who could wish for better final words, or feelings?
For me this year of reading books has had many purposes, with new ones discovered along the way. I began looking for an escape from the harrowing loss of my sister and for a defining purpose to my life. I've learned that I can never evolve out of the grieving but that it is absorbed into who I am, and that there is no one purpose to life other than filling it with commitment to whatever I do and to whomever I do it with. Athill confirms so much of what I've discovered through my reading, and she offers fresh and unique insight into (and support of) my goals of gratitude, involvement, change, and always anticipating with open arms the unexpected. Life isn't over until its over, and there are new opportunities for connection and happiness and surprise in every stage of life.
Athill finishes her wonderful book by listing the three advantages of old age: first, unexpectedness (although I argue this is present in every stage of life, but perhaps only fully appreciated as we get older); second, the freedom from feeling that everything matters so very much: "none of it mattered at the deepest level, so that all of it could be taken lightly." There was "no event [that] could be so crucial to my self-esteem in quite the same way anymore, and that was strangely liberating." With a limited time period left, Athill finds that "thrilling possibilities" of a new life, new career, or new love may have waned but at the same time, such waning "allowed experiences to be enjoyable in an uncomplicated way -- to be simply fun." As a person still in her forties, and possibly a long life ahead but possibly not, I have come to see that what I do is, ultimately, not all that important. Better that I make damn sure that my life is enjoyable and engaging (and yes, fun) and that I work to ensure the passage of something good to someone else through love, friendship, or knowledge.
The third advantage of old age listed by Athill is that she no longer suffers from shyness. This "advantage" was a letdown for me - huh? is that wisdom? -- but then I realized that for Athill the change away from shyness was radical, personal and deep. Her point is that change of almost any kind is possible at any age. That is wisdom, and a credo to live by, one of hope and of vitality. We can continue changing our whole lives. Somewhere Towards the End shows us how, and why.
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