A frail shelter
When the little white-haired Polish grandmother appeared in the hall, last night, I knew that Doris Lessing had arrived. Her hair was parted in the middle of her head, and it had a hint of wave as it was pulled carefully back, becoming more gray as it descended to a small knot above the nape of her neck. Her eyes lay at the bottom of two round dark hollows in her face, which otherwise appeared largely unmarked except for two vertical furrows guarding her mouth and chin. She was dressed well, in a navy blue suit, its straight skirt ending a few inches above her ankles. A violet scarf filigreed with gold dangled from her neck.
After the introductions, a much taller woman took her by the arm and led her slowly up the steps to the podium.
Her clipped British voice was only slightly blurred by age. It was a no-nonsense voice that, from time to time, came to a stop with a wry sally. I thought of a hen, of a biddy. Here are some of the things that she said:
[introducing a story from which she read] "No one is happy for ten years."
[reading from the story] "Tom was unhappy, but he didn't know it."
[introducing another story] "When I wrote it, I realized how much I had forgotten. And how much I wanted to forget, which is worse."
[reading from that story] "It was appropriate that such a frail shelter, always seeming about to dissolve into the sea, should be a place for lovers."
[reflecting on the eventual fate of a character in that story, which had been told to her as being a true one] "He is still waiting, hoping that his child will turn up. But I don't know if he will turn up. It seems unlikely."
[in answer to a question about why so many people tell her their stories] "We all hear stories all the time. After all, what is gossip?"
[in answer to a question about her opinion of a biography being written about her] "I don't want a biography written. When I'm dead, I won't care."
[asked about her favorite writers] "There is such a lot of good writing going on...the Russians were important to me when I was young...our life situations were similar [an educated elite living among a mass of more primitive people]...Primitive people are always admired by their conquerors or rulers for having wells of untapped wisdom [the last few words said ironically]...Stendhal--I've just reread most of him. I am limp with awe at Stendhal."
[while refusing to answer a question about the physical details of her writing process, i.e. pencil vs. computer] "Why do you ask? This question always gets asked. It's as if people think that there is a trick to writing, and once that trick is discovered, then it's all easy. Well, it isn't. The trick is hard work."
[speaking of "The Four-Gated City," while answering a question about her favorites among her own work.] "It is maybe my best book. There is something wrong with the beginning, but it's too late to change it."
[responding to a question about the Women's Movement] "I am astonished that young women don't know that they are the first women in history that haven't had to worry about getting pregnant. They don't know what their ancestors' lives were like. The lives of women were terrible. They don't know what they've been saved from. Science and technology did it, not the women's movement."
I didn't stay afterwards to buy a book. I should've. I was stupid. Oh well.
After the introductions, a much taller woman took her by the arm and led her slowly up the steps to the podium.
Her clipped British voice was only slightly blurred by age. It was a no-nonsense voice that, from time to time, came to a stop with a wry sally. I thought of a hen, of a biddy. Here are some of the things that she said:
[introducing a story from which she read] "No one is happy for ten years."
[reading from the story] "Tom was unhappy, but he didn't know it."
[introducing another story] "When I wrote it, I realized how much I had forgotten. And how much I wanted to forget, which is worse."
[reading from that story] "It was appropriate that such a frail shelter, always seeming about to dissolve into the sea, should be a place for lovers."
[reflecting on the eventual fate of a character in that story, which had been told to her as being a true one] "He is still waiting, hoping that his child will turn up. But I don't know if he will turn up. It seems unlikely."
[in answer to a question about why so many people tell her their stories] "We all hear stories all the time. After all, what is gossip?"
[in answer to a question about her opinion of a biography being written about her] "I don't want a biography written. When I'm dead, I won't care."
[asked about her favorite writers] "There is such a lot of good writing going on...the Russians were important to me when I was young...our life situations were similar [an educated elite living among a mass of more primitive people]...Primitive people are always admired by their conquerors or rulers for having wells of untapped wisdom [the last few words said ironically]...Stendhal--I've just reread most of him. I am limp with awe at Stendhal."
[while refusing to answer a question about the physical details of her writing process, i.e. pencil vs. computer] "Why do you ask? This question always gets asked. It's as if people think that there is a trick to writing, and once that trick is discovered, then it's all easy. Well, it isn't. The trick is hard work."
[speaking of "The Four-Gated City," while answering a question about her favorites among her own work.] "It is maybe my best book. There is something wrong with the beginning, but it's too late to change it."
[responding to a question about the Women's Movement] "I am astonished that young women don't know that they are the first women in history that haven't had to worry about getting pregnant. They don't know what their ancestors' lives were like. The lives of women were terrible. They don't know what they've been saved from. Science and technology did it, not the women's movement."
I didn't stay afterwards to buy a book. I should've. I was stupid. Oh well.
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