nakedness tonight

Still life with Negroni. 

The Other Elizabeth Taylor

I have been reading A Game of Hide and Seek by Elizabeth Taylor, who is of course THE OTHER ELIZABETH TAYLOR, and I can’t think of anything worse than trying to publish in the late 50s, early 60s and having your name be the same as one of the biggest movie stars of all time. Even worse, it’s not even your real name, it’s your married name. I had never heard of Elizabeth Taylor until I noticed that NYRB Classics would reissue her two novels, A Game of Hide and Seek, and Angel. I believe they plan to reissue her short stories, eventually, as well. Angel, apparently, was made into a film starring Romola Garai and Michael Fassbender in 2007. Of this, I can say nothing except I’m ashamed I haven’t seen it.

It’s a damn shame that you probably haven’t heard of Taylor, either, since she’s been largely neglected, but thanks to NYRB Classics one can only hope she’ll be rediscovered. A Game of Hide and Seek is a weird little book, in some ways, it’s maybe the most natural feeling read - life ticks by in a series of small explosions - and can be hopeless at times. Taylor’s attention to detail and the imagery, though, is just, plainly brilliant. I have to imagine that this novel is autobiographical, as all novels are, in a way. I don’t think it’s any mistake that the daughter of our protagonist (Harriet) is named Elizabeth; she reminds me so much of another Elizabeth that belongs to Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway.

Elizabeth Taylor is such a mystery to me. Why in God’s name wouldn’t you just publish under your maiden name, Elizabeth Coles? There is a biography, by Nicola Beauman, aptly titled The Other Elizabeth Taylor … and I’ll have to get my hands on a copy of that. Fascinatingly enough, Benjamin Schwarz (for The Atlantic) quotes Taylor as remarking: [emphasis mine]

“I dislike much travel or change of environment and prefer the days … to come round almost the same, week after week,” she said. That steady rhythm allowed for her regular and admirable output—although she began to publish only when she was 34, wrote “slowly and without enjoyment, and think it all out when I am doing the ironing,” and regularly put her work aside to attend to her children and household (!), she produced 12 novels, four story collections, and one children’s book in 30 years. (She wrote her last novel while dying of cancer; “She had great stamina and no arrogance,” Howard remembered.) Her preferences in fiction mirrored a life in which, as she acknowledged, “nothing sensational, thank heavens, has ever happened.”

Yes.

(Source: philnoto, via meeks)

Downton Abbey

Are you sick of hearing about Downton Abbey yet? Well, I’m not. I only just watched the entire first season on January 1st in one sitting. Yes, it is streaming on Netflix and I highly recommend watching it this way. The second season is currently showing on PBS on Sunday nights.

My boyfriend and I were discussing why we think the show is so popular. Aside from the writing, which is very smart, and the beautiful production, I find this show comforting because every character has his or her place. Obviously this is problematic in many ways, but theirs is a world with varied roles, unlike ours where there are too many actors, not enough parts.

Thank you to those of you who expressed an appreciation for my ‘Fear’ post. How is 2012 treating you so far?  I’m not complaining about having too many options but here’s the bitch of it: we all know the key to happiness (thanks Steve Jobs) is doing something you love. For some of us, figuring out exactly what that is can be tricky. Even trickier: gathering the motivation and then implementing it effectively.

"It’s like being screwed by a thousand guys and you can’t get pregnant."

Marilyn Monroe, when asked by the fashion photographer Laszlo Willinger, early in her career, why she thought she had such chemistry with the camera. From Lee Siegel’s piece “Unsexing Marilyn” in The New York Review of Books.

On Fear

Let me tell you something. Since I left home to go to college, I have been afraid of failure. So much so, that I have avoided doing things in my life that were worth doing. Friends and family say “you are doing great, look at all you’ve accomplished.” In many ways, they are right. Because I was not born into wealth, I accept that I must work and maintain employment to pay my bills and support my life here in New York. And, as I’m sure many of you understand, it is extremely difficult to work a day job (or two day jobs) and continue to have the energy to pursue your creative goals outside of your work commitments. For the past few years, I have approached these aspirations as if they were impossible. I have ignored them and pursued other things. I have convinced myself that, due to my avoidance, I must not be serious about the creative goals. I regret this deeply.

For the past few days I’ve been reading the Steve Jobs biography by Walter Issacson and it’s no surprise that these feelings of regret and hopelessness have been exacerbated by the story of Jobs, who relentlessly pursued his goals with an almost fascist perfectionism, accomplished so much, and died too soon at the age of 56. I see many of my friends struggling with the same listlessness I’ve experienced in the past five years. Many of them are returning to graduate school, frustrated with the lack of career opportunities or creative options, and hoping that more education might be the answer to their anxieties. I have no doubt that for some people this may be the solution. Who knows, it could be a good solution for me as well. But is it really the answer?

We all recognize that life is short, but I’m not sure that any person actually realizes how short it is until we are given a due-date and by then it’s too late. For some reason, I have been acting as if my time has run out. I have made endless excuses about why I haven’t been more aggressive about my goals. They are the very same goals I had as a child of five. They have never really changed. The only difference is, I have avoided them. I have put them in a box and thrown away the key in hopes that I might forget them, that I might grow accustomed to this complacency, and resign myself to a life of regret.

This is a fairly personal post. If you don’t know me well, you might think, why is Jessica sharing this on Tumblr? Well, I apologize if you feel you’ve been a victim of oversharing, but it’s something that’s been on my mind now for several years, and I needed to write it out to remind myself that the only person holding me back from living the life I want to live is myself.

2012 is upon us. I don’t know about you, but I’m so sick and tired of letting fear get the best of me. What is life for, except pursuing whatever you are most passionate about? Even if there are roadblocks, isn’t the whole point to make the best effort you possibly can? You might fail, but at the end, you can look at yourself in the mirror and say, I tried. That knowledge, I think, is essential to happiness.

Charles and Ray Eames.

Happy Holidays!