The Day I Became an Autodidact by Kendall Hailey
It’s going to rain all weekend, so I just returned from the nutso grocery stores and I’m hunkering in to do some January clean outs. You know, that pile of old tee shirts that I imagine I’ll wear at the gym (if I ever went to the gym) or those stacks of CD’s I never play anymore.
But instead (you knew this was coming) I headed to a seldom used bookshelf in the guest room and searched for books to get rid of. Books are much more fun to sort through than tee shirts.
I came across this book which, from my notes inside, I read in 1990 – a year after it was published.
Should it stay or should it go? Let’s see, shall we?
The Day I Became an Autodidact,
and the Advice, Adventures, and Acrimonies That Befell Me Thereafter
by Kendall Hailey
First, because I had to look it up:
Autodidact: a person who has learned a subject without the benefit of a teacher or formal education; a self-taught person.
You may remember one of my favorite books A Woman of Independent Means by Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey. This autobiography, cum journal comes to us from her precocious daughter when she was just a teenager.
At age fifteen, Kendall decided to throw off the shackles of a formal education after receiving her high school summer reading list:
“Being told what to read by someone else is a violation of basic human rights. Or at least basic literary ones.”
So she graduates high school early, and pursues her own intellectual and artistic interests, at home with her fabulously oddball family – her novelist mother and her father, playwright Oliver Hailey. This is her account of the journey.
Each entry begins with (capitalization is all hers):
WHAT I HOPE TO DO: (Get a Head Start on Reading Everything Ever Published); and ends with WHAT I DID (Had a bumpy first date with Dostoevsky).
Kendall tears through Roman history and Greek plays. Upon reading Aristophanes, she writes:
“Plays about the gods are always fun. It is so comforting to think such cut-ups are running the universe.”
As I thumb through this book, I find my underlining throughout — who would not find an eclectic kindred spirit in a teen who reads and raves about Pride and Prejudice, Life With Father, Anna Karenina and The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.
She raves about Will and Ariel Durrant (whom I’ve never attempted) but I agree with her on Henry James:
“Several readers were reported lost for years in a Henry James sentence.”
The Hailey family is no doubt privileged — they jet off to England to purchase a third home and hobnob at Sardi’s after Broadway openings. Throughout it all, Kendall is a typical teenager, but with an old soul. She has a boyfriend, of sorts:
“We talked for an hour and a half until he had to leave for the orthodontist. It is hard to talk too seriously of love with someone who still has to go to the orthodontist.”
And, has normal teenage angst:
“I have discovered that it does not really matter if I write, read or am nice to people. All that matters is that I lose weight.”
Kendall’s view on nuclear war, while simplistic, struck a cord with me:
“I think everyone who has the power to start a nuclear war should be made to see Our Town at least once a day — until the last thing they want is the power to destroy life. If they could see how precious one life is, perhaps they would stop seeing nine hundred million lives as an endurable loss.”
At times, she is wise beyond her years:
“The world is much too random a place for any of us ever to end up with exactly what we want, but then very few of us are bright enough to know exactly what we want.”
I remember I found The Day I Became an Autodidact schizophrenic — at times irritating, entitled and narcissistic — but also funny, charming and whip smart – just like any normal teenager.
The book is staying for a re-read – now, back to my pile of tee shirts.
After yesterday’s post…
A kind Book Barmy reader sent this to me after yesterday’s post…
Excuse me, but I think I’ll go fondle my books…
Odd, Very Odd
2016 was a very odd year on many levels, and now we’re into 2017, which promises to be even odder.
While sipping New Years Eve champagne with friends, I realized 2016, for most everyone, was rubbish – absolute rubbish (I love the British term — rubbish — so much nicer than — garbage)
For me, odd 2016 was a year of being distracted and worried about so many things over which I had no control or influence and yet it affected everything in my life – especially my reading .
Even that normally quiet week between Christmas and New Years was a conga line of interruptions and mad activity. I finished only one (only one!) of my Christmas books. 2016 was very odd:
I lost my reading mojo.
I didn’t do as much reading as I’d planned or even hoped.
I have a toppling stack of books abandoned after reading a few chapters
I had the attention span of a gnat.
So, as I slowly put away the Christmas decorations for another year, it suddenly hit me. For most of the past year I’ve been freaking tired – not sleep deprived tired — but bone weary, beat with sticks, sick of it all tired…
My New Years resolution is to give myself permission to restore.
Restore my focus
Restore just being still
Restore also getting out and being more active
Restore my connection with things that fill me with quiet, simple happiness – a daily walk on the beach, my garden, going out with friends, trying new recipes, my new bicycle, writing a letter or two ~~ and yes reading, but not just reading – but focusing and falling into a book — hard.
A friend just posted this on their Facebook page (see, no attention span, I bounced over to Facebook, even as I write this blog post…)
Hello 2017, as odd as you may be, I’ll be ready for you — after I’ve had a rest.
Hygge days
It’s my favorite part of the holiday season – that lovely week between Christmas and New Years. When I put on my music and snuggle up in my reading nook.
But I’ll take a short break to tell you about an article a friend mentioned from the Sunday New York Times.
It’s all about wintering the Danish way and the concept of Hygge (pronounced HOO-gah) ~~ the Danish word for cozy.
Hygee
(don’t you love saying it? Come on everyone, all together now, ~~ HOO-gah)
is the constant pursuit of homey pleasures involving candlelight, fires, fuzzy knitted socks, porridge, coffee, cake and other people. Yes, I mummered to myself that’s exactly what this week is all about, Hygge. (Except for the porridge bit, shudder.)
You can read the article HERE
I promise to report back soon with my reading adventures.
Happy Hygee everyone.
And to all a good night…
A favorite post from last Christmas Eve.
In Iceland, it is a Christmas Eve tradition to give a book as a gift.
This is called Jólabókaflóð, or the Christmas Book Flood.
At Christmas the sun doesn’t rise until 11 am and it’s dark by 3 PM.
So after a brisk (and chilly!) afternoon walk around town with the rest of their neighbors, the whole family snuggles into their homes with a hot drink and to read their new books.
Wishing all my fellow book lovers a traditional Jólabókaflóð ~~
and to all a good night ~~
The Longest Night
It’s the solstice – so here’s a poem. Light a candle, bring your loved ones close, and hold fast against the longest night.
Peace & love, Book Barmy
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And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, reveling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us – listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And now so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Susan Cooper
Courtesy of Stephanie HERE
Soon — Very Soon
I’m on the home stretch of Christmas preparations. Knitting projects whittled down to a final few. Presents wrapped, boxed and shipped – mostly. Christmas cards mailed (yes I still send some real cards). Cookies are made and boxed to distribute. The tree is up and decorated. Just a few last minute decorations and gifts to sort out.
So it’s beginning to look like ~~~ Ho Ho Ho ~~~ holiday reading time Soon — very soon I keep telling myself.
Here’s my pile of carefully chosen Christmas books, standing at the ready next to my reading chair.
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Every December an envelope bearing a stamp from the North Pole would arrive for J.R.R. Tolkien’s children. Inside would be a letter in a strange, spidery handwriting and a hand-colored drawing. This book contains all the letters J.R.R. Tolkien wrote to his children in the guise of Father Christmas from the first to his eldest son in 1920 right through to the last one he wrote to his only daughter in 1943. Each letter purports to be an account of various adventures that happen to Father Christmas and elves. I’ve briefly dipped into this lovely book. It’s filled with reproductions of the actual hand calligraphy and drawings Tolkien created –and I couldn’t resist — this beautiful book had to belong in my Christmas book collection. Here’s just a sample.
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This is the first in a mystery series featuring the Armenian dective Gregor Demarkian. I’ve never read any of these so grabbed this for $2 at the big book sale. Here’s the summary:
The Hannaford who made the family fortune called himself a tycoon. The newspapers called him a robber baron. Since the days of Robert Hannaford I, the family has infested Philadelphia society like a disease. The current Hannafords are a clan of embezzlers, gamblers, and fantasy novelists. This Christmas, they have money in their bank accounts, crime in their blood, and murder on their minds.
Gregor Demarkian is their reluctant guest. A former FBI agent who quit the agency after his wife’s death, he is invited by the Hannaford patriarch to come for dinner at the family mansion. Demarkain arrives just in time to find his host bludgeoned to death in his study and his investigation will lead him to the Hannafords, a family of cold-blooded killers.
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This book came into our young adult section at the bookstore. It’s part of a series called “Dear America” which tell historical events through fictional characters.
In April of 1917, Simone Spencer’s world changes. Her beloved brother Will goes off to war, and Simone seeks a way to help. The passionate daughter of a feisty French mother and a rebellious upper-class father, Simone is not cut out for the society life she is meant to lead.
So, when General Pershing calls for French-speaking American girls to operate the switchboards on the Western Front, Simone becomes one of the first to sign up and keeps a diary of her life as a brave “Hello Girl” whose courage helped lead the Allies to victory.
I borrowed this little book and after reading it will determine if it’s worthy of purchase for my collection.
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This looks like fun. From the back: It’s three days until Christmas and Junior Bender, Hollywood’s fast-talking fixer for the felonious, is up to his ears in shopping mall Santas, Russian mobsters, desperate holiday shoppers, and (’tis the season) murder.
Junior Bender, divorced father of one and burglar extraordinaire, finds himself stuck inside the Edgerton Mall, and not just as a last-minute shopper (though he is that too). Edgerton isn’t exactly the epicenter of holiday cheer, despite its two Santas, canned Christmas music, chintzy bows, and festive lights. The mall is a fossil of an industry in decline; many of its stores are closed, and to make matters worse, there is a rampant shoplifting problem.
The murderous Russian mobster who owns the place has decided it takes a thief to catch a thief and hires Junior—under threat—to solve the shoplifting problem for him. But Junior’s surveillance operation doesn’t go well: as Christmas Eve approaches, two people are dead and it’s obvious that shoplifting is the least of the mall’s problems. To prevent further deaths, possibly including his own, Junior must confront his dread of Christmas—both present and past.
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I’m on the looooong library wait list for this treat from the late P.D. James. Trust me, I can hardly wait, and will drop all the others when my turn comes.
Here’s the blurb from the library catalog:
Four previously unpublished stories from one of the great mystery writers of our time—swift, cunning murder mysteries (two of which feature a young Adam Dalgliesh) that together, to borrow the author’s own word, add up to a delightful “entertainment.”
The newly appointed Sgt. Dalgliesh is drawn into a case that is “pure Agatha Christie.” . . . A “pedantic, respectable, censorious” clerk’s secret taste for pornography is only the first reason he finds for not coming forward as a witness to a murder . . . A best-selling crime novelist describes the crime she herself was involved in fifty years earlier . . . Dalgliesh’s godfather implores him to reinvestigate a notorious murder that might ease the godfather’s mind about an inheritance, but which will reveal a truth that even the supremely upstanding Adam Dalgliesh will keep to himself. Each of these stories is as playful as it is ingeniously plotted, the author’s sly humor as evident as her hallmark narrative elegance and shrewd understanding of some of the most complex—not to say the most damning—aspects of human nature. A treat for P. D. James’s legions of fans and anyone who enjoys the pleasures of a masterfully wrought whodunit.
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For now I have a few more Christmas preparations, there are some fun events to attend, and not forgetting our annual dinner downtown combined with visiting the holiday window light displays.
But soon I’ll be in my happy place, Christmas tea mug in hand, carols softly playing and reading ~~ there’s even more rain predicted in a few days. We need more rain and, as I’m sure you’ll agree — it’s the perfect reading weather.
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