when a dream appears
Rather unsurprisingly, I have paid a little too much money to have internet access in the hotel room so I don't have to venture out into the heat of Canberra. And since one of the books I bought yesterday proved unreadable and the second slightly tedious, here I am to post about just how much I love Roald Dahl.
It seems to be this thing I always do when I come back to the Southern Highlands, be it Moss Vale or Bowral. When I come home, eventually I go to the library, sometimes not even by choice. I didn't actually intend to this time but because my Aunt is too miserly to buy books and laidback enough to wait for books, she's there almost every week. And at least three of the librarians remember me so well from high school days that they know exactly when to ask if I'm back. And if dri's back, why hasn't she come in? Tell her to come in! Don't tell me she's not reading! Oy vey. Is this what they mean about country life? Hee.
So I trundle myself to the library and it's only just struck me that I always seem to do a Dahl re-read when I come home. For years, I've been wanting to build up a collection for myself. But somehow Dahl in paperback just doesn't seem right and that's all I seem to see in the shops. I've always read him in the oldfashioned hardback form with Quentin Blake illustrations --- as if Dahl could be read with anyone else's drawings --- because that's what the Wingecarribee Shire libraries have.
This time I found Boy. Which I've only been wanting for ages. Cos I always see Going Solo everywhere but couldn't bring myself to start that without having read the first volume. And oh man, did it not disappoint.
What I just posted on Visual Bookshelf: Sheer perfection, with all the irony and absurdity and dark tragedy that Dahl does so very well ... only here it's all the more powerful because, as he says first up, it's all true. And you never ever doubt that he's telling the perfect truth without exaggeration, even when it's utterly appallling. I particularly adored the slightly more adult narration. And really, the only flaw was that it ended. Now I can't wait to get my hands on Going Solo. What would life be like without Dahl? I'm so glad I'll never have to know.
And the bit that sent absolute chills down my spine: I began to realise how simple life could be if one had a regular routine to follow with fixed hours and a fixed salary and very little original thinking to do. The life of a writer is absolute hell compared with the life of a businessman. The writer has to force himself to work. He has to make his own hours and if he doesn't go to his desk at all there is nobody to scold him. If he is a writer of fiction he lives in a world of fear. Each new day demands new ideas and he can never be sure whether he is going to come up with them or not. Two hours of writing fiction leaves this particular writer absolutely drained. For those two hours he has been miles away, he has been somewhere else, in a different place with totally different people, and the effort of swimming back into normal surroundings is very great. It is almost a shock. The writer walks out of his workroom in a daze. He wants a drink. He needs it. It happens to be a fact that nearly every writer of fiction in the world drinks more whisky than is good for him. He does it to give himself faith, hope and courage. A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul and that, I am sure, is why he does it.
--- p156
I don't agree with the alcohol bit --- that's just asking for an early onset of bipolar and/or schizophrenia for this child of two alcoholics and grandchild of an alcoholic, thank you --- but the rest of it is absolutely horrifying because it's absolutely true. And even if I'm determined to forget it because otherwise I'll never write, it's still valuable to have as a validation of something every writer has always suspected and maybe hasn't been brave/suicidal enough to face.
I wonder if there's been a good biography written of Dahl. Because I know only the briefest snippets to know he's had a life of significant tragedy only you would never know that from his fiction. There's darkness there only if you turn your head and look sideways but it's there. And I'd love to know how he evolved as a person through his life just because he seems like exactly the kind of person I'd love to know. There must be a good biography. I just need to do some research to find exactly which one so I don't end up with something completely vile like that Tosches bio of Dino.
Before this, I re-read The Witches and god I still get teary at exactly the same bits. And I'm so glad I thought to bring Matilda along on this trip.
It seems to be this thing I always do when I come back to the Southern Highlands, be it Moss Vale or Bowral. When I come home, eventually I go to the library, sometimes not even by choice. I didn't actually intend to this time but because my Aunt is too miserly to buy books and laidback enough to wait for books, she's there almost every week. And at least three of the librarians remember me so well from high school days that they know exactly when to ask if I'm back. And if dri's back, why hasn't she come in? Tell her to come in! Don't tell me she's not reading! Oy vey. Is this what they mean about country life? Hee.
So I trundle myself to the library and it's only just struck me that I always seem to do a Dahl re-read when I come home. For years, I've been wanting to build up a collection for myself. But somehow Dahl in paperback just doesn't seem right and that's all I seem to see in the shops. I've always read him in the oldfashioned hardback form with Quentin Blake illustrations --- as if Dahl could be read with anyone else's drawings --- because that's what the Wingecarribee Shire libraries have.
This time I found Boy. Which I've only been wanting for ages. Cos I always see Going Solo everywhere but couldn't bring myself to start that without having read the first volume. And oh man, did it not disappoint.
What I just posted on Visual Bookshelf: Sheer perfection, with all the irony and absurdity and dark tragedy that Dahl does so very well ... only here it's all the more powerful because, as he says first up, it's all true. And you never ever doubt that he's telling the perfect truth without exaggeration, even when it's utterly appallling. I particularly adored the slightly more adult narration. And really, the only flaw was that it ended. Now I can't wait to get my hands on Going Solo. What would life be like without Dahl? I'm so glad I'll never have to know.
And the bit that sent absolute chills down my spine: I began to realise how simple life could be if one had a regular routine to follow with fixed hours and a fixed salary and very little original thinking to do. The life of a writer is absolute hell compared with the life of a businessman. The writer has to force himself to work. He has to make his own hours and if he doesn't go to his desk at all there is nobody to scold him. If he is a writer of fiction he lives in a world of fear. Each new day demands new ideas and he can never be sure whether he is going to come up with them or not. Two hours of writing fiction leaves this particular writer absolutely drained. For those two hours he has been miles away, he has been somewhere else, in a different place with totally different people, and the effort of swimming back into normal surroundings is very great. It is almost a shock. The writer walks out of his workroom in a daze. He wants a drink. He needs it. It happens to be a fact that nearly every writer of fiction in the world drinks more whisky than is good for him. He does it to give himself faith, hope and courage. A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul and that, I am sure, is why he does it.
--- p156
I don't agree with the alcohol bit --- that's just asking for an early onset of bipolar and/or schizophrenia for this child of two alcoholics and grandchild of an alcoholic, thank you --- but the rest of it is absolutely horrifying because it's absolutely true. And even if I'm determined to forget it because otherwise I'll never write, it's still valuable to have as a validation of something every writer has always suspected and maybe hasn't been brave/suicidal enough to face.
I wonder if there's been a good biography written of Dahl. Because I know only the briefest snippets to know he's had a life of significant tragedy only you would never know that from his fiction. There's darkness there only if you turn your head and look sideways but it's there. And I'd love to know how he evolved as a person through his life just because he seems like exactly the kind of person I'd love to know. There must be a good biography. I just need to do some research to find exactly which one so I don't end up with something completely vile like that Tosches bio of Dino.
Before this, I re-read The Witches and god I still get teary at exactly the same bits. And I'm so glad I thought to bring Matilda along on this trip.