When I was a little girl at home, if one of us children upset a glass at table or dropped a knife, my father's voice bellowed: "Behave yourself!" If we soaked our bread in the gravy, he cried out, "Don't lick the plates! Don't make messes and slops!"
Messes and slops were things which my father could not stand, any more than he could stand modern pictures.
"You people don't know how to sit at table. You are not people one could take out anywhere. You make such a mess. If you were at a hotel table in England, they would send you out immediately." He had a very exalted opinion of England, holding it to be the finest example in the world of good breeding...
This is a passage from Natalia Ginzburg's "Family Lexicon." Sometimes it's called a novel, sometimes a memoir. Ginzburg was a major Italian writer; she is now enjoying a renaissance (see today's NYT), and there's speculation that her current moment in the spotlight is maybe related to the triumphs of Elena Ferrante. One of Ginzburg's main champions is the important Welsh writer Tessa Hadley.
Anyway, I like the opening of "Family Lexicon," because it triggers some of my own memories, and it reminds me that you're allowed to write about anything that moves you. A child spilling water can be a proper subject--if the writer can capture the moment with emotion.
The Times says Ginzburg was obsessed with family, "the source of all germs," and that family helped her to make "thick braids of ambivalence." You can see the ambivalence and love in these opening paragraphs above; Ginzburg seems fond of her dad even when quietly mocking his inability to relate to, and manage, children. There also seems to be fondness in the tiny detail about England: the Brits as guardians of All Things Civil. (Don't you sometimes have this sort of little sentimental tic in your own daily life?)
There are a few newly-resuscitated Ginzburg editions now in print, and they're on order at the NY Public Library. Good, honest writing can make you pay closer attention to your own life--which seems, to me, a useful thing. I think Ginzburg falls into the "good and honest" category.
Messes and slops were things which my father could not stand, any more than he could stand modern pictures.
"You people don't know how to sit at table. You are not people one could take out anywhere. You make such a mess. If you were at a hotel table in England, they would send you out immediately." He had a very exalted opinion of England, holding it to be the finest example in the world of good breeding...
This is a passage from Natalia Ginzburg's "Family Lexicon." Sometimes it's called a novel, sometimes a memoir. Ginzburg was a major Italian writer; she is now enjoying a renaissance (see today's NYT), and there's speculation that her current moment in the spotlight is maybe related to the triumphs of Elena Ferrante. One of Ginzburg's main champions is the important Welsh writer Tessa Hadley.
Anyway, I like the opening of "Family Lexicon," because it triggers some of my own memories, and it reminds me that you're allowed to write about anything that moves you. A child spilling water can be a proper subject--if the writer can capture the moment with emotion.
The Times says Ginzburg was obsessed with family, "the source of all germs," and that family helped her to make "thick braids of ambivalence." You can see the ambivalence and love in these opening paragraphs above; Ginzburg seems fond of her dad even when quietly mocking his inability to relate to, and manage, children. There also seems to be fondness in the tiny detail about England: the Brits as guardians of All Things Civil. (Don't you sometimes have this sort of little sentimental tic in your own daily life?)
There are a few newly-resuscitated Ginzburg editions now in print, and they're on order at the NY Public Library. Good, honest writing can make you pay closer attention to your own life--which seems, to me, a useful thing. I think Ginzburg falls into the "good and honest" category.
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