Terminal Perimenopause

Day 150 of the “What are you reading, and why?” project, and I am still reading Literary Feuds, by Anthony Arthur, where I have most recently completed the “cranky women” chapter on Lillian Hellman and Mary McCarthy, followed by the “cranky men” chapter on Truman Capote and Gore Vidal. Oh, my.

Meanwhile, while I hope I don’t actually die from it, I am suffering from “terminal perimenopause,” a phrase I made up. It is based on “terminal adolescence,” a phrase I grew up on, uttered by my dad*, and “perimenopause,” an awkward term made up by medical professionals to describe that ongoing terrible transition to the real end of menses.

Oh, I should have put up a TMI warning.

Why did they call it “pause” in the first place? When we are in it, we want it not to pause, but to end.

Peri-menopause. “Peri” as a prefix meaning “around” or “about” or “near.” “Menopause” meaning “the period of natural and permanent cessation of menstruation, usually occurring between ages 45 and 55”—who knew it would be all 10 years?!—and “pause” being a confusing word meaning “temporary cessation,” which is of course probably why they called it “menopause” in the first place and there is no need for the word “perimenopause.” Menopause already means the menses will stop and start, erratically, for a decade and drive the woman and anyone near her crazy.

Pertinent here: Freya Manfred’s poems “The Husband Speaks of Menopause” and “The Wife Speaks of Menopause” from her book My Only Home, which I am also reading.

Anyway, Lillian Hellman (1905-1984) was 75, sick, almost blind, and surely past menopause, when she got pissed off by something Mary McCarthy said in a television interview and sued her. McCarthy (1912-1989) was younger and terminally sarcastic when she said the mean things, and both of them had their reasons. I am amazed and admiring of author Anthony Arthur’s compassion and evenhandedness as he writes about these feuding literary types, but this is a case (literally, a legal case) in which, despite his respectful presentation of Hellman’s career and performance during the era of McCarthyism (interesting that two McCarthies—made-up plural—plagued Hellman), he comes down firmly on the side of McCarthy, who accused Hellman of lying.

Apparently, she did lie. Or misrepresent the truth. I have read Pentimento, Hellman’s memoir, and seen the movie Julia, but it seems probable that Hellman took someone else’s story as her own in the “Julia” case, namely that of Muriel Gardiner. It’s all over now, the court case, the quibbling. Muriel Gardiner has told her own story. But why do people do this kind of thing? Insecurity, literary ambition, the yearning for some kind of power?

The fiddling-with-truth seems always to have been an aspect of memoir, but also of history. Arthur points out that even the New Journalism, and Capote’s invented form, the “non-fiction novel,” were not really new, after all, just ways to label and market things. In Cold Blood.

Anyway, Capote and Vidal were not suffering from perimenopause, just from spurts of mean-spiritedness, which could afflict any of us, perhaps, for various circumstantial, hormonal, and personality-based reasons. And both suffered from literary ambition, which seems the basis of most literary feuds. Sigh…

Anyway, I have read The Group, by Mary McCarthy--happen to have a first Avon printing, I see, now that I work in a bookstore and notice such things—and Arthur’s book tells me it was based on a real group of women, her own “liberal intellectual set” (quoting Michiko Kakutani), the kind of thing that ultimately got Truman Capote in trouble, commenting on his own glamorous celebrity set. And not to call any of these writers lightweights (that’s the kind of thing they do), but I am glad I have paperback copies, due to my terminal lower back pain.

Since I admit I never really grew up, but did get boobs and a period, it occurs to me that I have indeed gone from one painfully awkward long transition stage, terminal adolescence, to another awkwardly painful long transition stage, terminal perimenopause, and may well die of the two combined.

*The phrase “terminal adolescence” was uttered by my dad, who attributed it to a friend, well before Kevin Leman wrote the book Adolescence Isn’t Terminal—It Just Feels Like It and long before Cheaper Than Therapy turned “Terminal Adolescence” into a song. Where did that phrase originate? Was it my dad’s buddy, as he claims?!

But I’m pretty sure I just originated the phrase “terminal perimenopause.” Let’s see if it sticks. Meanwhile, I am happy to direct you to this blog on perimenopause, which turned up when I searched for the phrase and does seem pertinent. Oooh, and here's another! The Scandalous Women blog has an account of the quarrel!

Nostalgic Potpourri

Day 149 of the "What are you reading, and why?" project and today, Garbage Day on my particular street and Hodgepodge Day in my meandering mind, I will report that several random strangers are reading wonderful books they remember from childhood or youth! (These are random strangers in a vintage bookshop, so not entirely random.)

A young woman caressed that pale lavender paperback copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee, saying, "I used to read this over and over, and now I don't think I have it in my house," so she bought it, so she would. The fondness for the book was so sweet, and her nostalgia almost had the aroma of lavender. Plus, that background uncertainty--where is that book?--suggesting various leavetakings from various homes. Sigh....

A man returning to the area for the summer, on break from a professorship in the Middle East, visited the bookshop for old times' sake, bringing his wife and two young children, looking for books from his own childhood to give to his kids--particularly Dr. Seuss, and he found some. Meanwhile, his kids were vocal about their own non-Seuss finds, and he eventually gave in and got 3 books, one for each child, including his "inner child."

And a young man bought 100 Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, a nostalgic favorite of mine, because people keep telling him to read it, so now he will. I love that book. I'm holding (well, now I'm typing, but I was holding) my mildly dampstained Avon Books paperback copy, 16th printing, in my cupped hands, as the lovers caress in their intense red and green jungle on the cover. Ah, 100 Years of Solitude. When I least expect it, the beautiful bald girl ascends to heaven in my mind.

And last night, I grew nostalgic for books I don't even have yet!--a paradoxical emotion. Just arrived from Amazon, where it waited on my wishlist till I had saved up, is What Feeds Us, by Diane Lockward, a poet I enjoy every time I find her work in the journals. Finally, I have this book. But her latest, Temptation by Water, is just out, and now I lust after that one. I say "lust" appropriately, I think, as this book seems to be about desire! And water, where I feel at home. And I still desire another Lockward book, Eve's Red Dress

Likewise, I yearn for The Alchemist's Kitchen, by Susan Rich, which sits in my cart till I save up again for poetry! But these two wonderful poets have given us all a treat. Diane interviewed Susan in her own blog, Blogalicious, which you can click on my bloglist, and you can read the interview, a poem, a meditation on the poem, and hear Susan read another poem via a link to youtube! (Or you can click Susan's blog, The Alchemist's Kitchen, on the bloglist, and find her link to the interview. Ah, the wonders of technology. Which reminds me, I signed up for Goodreads but haven't done anything there since. Sigh....)

Bloglists, aka blogrolls, are great. You see the latest entry, and they're so adorably clickable. Blogrolls sound edible.

On the Media & On Math

Day 147 of the "What are you reading, and why?" project, and I'm glad to report that National Public Radio is rebroadcasting its "Book It" Series on On the Media. You can hear stories on the publishing industry, the future of reading, comparative reading, and innovations in reading. For all you aural learners and audioreaders, NPR is a wonderful thing.

When I was teaching, we'd do essays on early reading experiences to make that connection between reading and writing, and, in some cases, try to figure out where it all went hooey, when they stopped loving reading. Main answer: when they had to read for school and write papers. So many students told me about their joyful library "Book It" programs--a different "book it"--with prizes including personal pizzas.

I was always a happy youngster at the library, with no incentives but the reading itself. I would sometimes agonize over the choices, though, not wanting to be disappointed. Sometimes I yearned for something magical, fantastic, or scary. I was in second grade when I read a book of Alfred Hitchcock (was he the editor? did he write the intro?) stories when my parents went out and we had a babysitter. My mom warned me not to, but I did it anyway, and scared myself silly--then had to wait for them to get home to be comforted. Meanwhile, I was scared and, as the oldest, embarrassed.

Today, continuing in the Anthony Arthur book Literary Feuds, I read about C. P. Snow and F. R. Leavis and the "two cultures" (science and literature) debate. Snow was a scientist and a novelist, and mainly a generalist. Leavis was an academic and literary critic, and a specialist. Snow was wildly popular and successful. Leavis was not, comparatively speaking, and was known for his sharp, witty, and pretty mean reviews.

I had been pondering the "two cultures" thing--from the early 1960s--pretty recently--that is, in the 2000s--because a buddy in the Great Books biz had brought it up again, noticing that indeed many scientists he knows are rather well read in literature while the literary bunch is not very well read in the sciences. The science journalists and generalists and literary science types have done a lot to change that in recent decades, making many scientific concepts clear to lay people. Why can't we all get along? (Boy, would Leavis make fun of me!)

It is so nice to be unimportant. No one will feud with me!

Anyhoo, the science vs. humanities debate brings me to Taye, who is reading math. A big 3-volume set of mathematics essays, covering the history of mathematical thought and also special kinds of math. He told me that books 6 and 7 were intentionally left out of this fantastic set of writings when it was translated from Russian to English, and these are the books that make sense of everything. Why?! Why were these books left out?!

Fortunately, they were later published in English in a journal, harder to find than the books. Taye says that you open most math books and see lots of numbers. Not these. These have words. He hated math as a kid in school. He says you have to force yourself to think in math ways, and once he did, he understood things better, everything. He saw connections. He teaches political science and thinking with math logic has changed his life and his teaching.

Sigh.... But I do possess and have read around in Poetry of the Universe: A Mathematical Exploration of the Cosmos, by Robert Osserman. At Taye's urging, I will read around in it some more.

Innocents Abroad, Books Galore, Laps to Swim

Day 130 of the "What are you reading, and why?" project, and Dustin is reading The Innocents Abroad, by Mark Twain. I hope he will tell us why! (I owe Dustin a letter, snail mail (!), but I hope he will forgive me for writing not to him but about him...for the moment.)

The Innocents Abroad is sort of a travel book, one famous for a version of "the ugly American" and for spoofing just about everything, including religion, as the tourists are headed to the Holy Land. So keep that in mind as you embark on summer travel.

Mark Twain is famous for his humor, of course, and for his sadness later in life, for being the father of American literature as the author of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (sometimes banned these days, for using the language of its time), and for coming in and going out with Halley's Comet.

I am just now reading about Mark Twain's feud with Bret Harte! They were friends early on, and I'm not sure yet what happened, but I will find out in the Literary Feuds book, by Anthony Arthur, which I did pick up off the floor in the bookstore above.

So far I know that Harte was successful first, and that some think he veers toward the sentimental in pleasing readers with the good side of the West, keeping silent about the bad. And that Samuel Clemens was very ambitious, and had to get the heck out of Nevada for insulting a lady...and having her husband come after him with a gun. And, as in The Innocents Abroad, Clemens (Twain) was not very tolerant of anything sentimental. So, we'll see....

(Some people think I am sentimental, maybe because I cry at Hallmark commercials. But I promise you that, while I can be jerked around, I will not jerk you around.)

Now I am 1) very hungry for breakfast, but 2) off to swim, as I was advised to try the later time, to avoid the crowds. Yes, there are crowded lap-swim lanes at 6:30 in the morning.

More books, and more feuds, to come!