The Gift

by H.D.

In this hitherto unpublished memoir, the poet who signed herself H. D. recreates the world of her childhood in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, and in a country house outside Philadelphia

Genres: Fiction, Literature, 20th Century, Novels, Poetry

142 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1982

About the author

An innovative modernist American writer, Hilda Doolittle (1886–1961) wrote under her initials in a career that stretched from 1909 to 1961. H.D., most well known for her lyric and epic poetry, also wrote novels, memoirs, short stories, essays, reviews, a children’s book, and translations. An American woman who lived her adult life abroad, H.D. was engaged in the formalist experimentation that preoccupied much of her generation. A range of thematic concerns resonates through her writing: the role of the poet, the civilian representation of war, material and mythologized ancient cultures, the role of national and colonial identity, lesbian and queer sexuality, and religion and spirituality.

Reviews

[Alwynne · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Gift is a short memoir by writer H. D. (Hilda Doolittle). H.D. looks back through the eyes of her childhood self, sifting through recollections of growing up in Pennsylvania and Philadelphia in the early 1900s. These are presented like a collage pieced together from fragmented memories and stories: sparked by simple chains of association, snow leads to finding out about the nature of snowflakes then to making snowballs on to her father taking her and her brothers through snowy, lamplit streets to buy a Christmas present, a box of toy animals to go under their tree. She recalls snippets of mysterious, overheard adult conversations, half-remembered dreams, nightmares stemming from turning a page and unexpectedly finding a macabre image in a children’s storybook. There are brief episodes centred on family traditions, her grandfather’s clay sheep, decked in cotton wool, and carefully made each year to decorate their Christmas tree, a first visit to a theatre, a new school. Sometimes images and sounds stand out in her mind, sometimes they run together. It’s a rich, unsentimental, work of personal and cultural memory, composed during the Blitz in London, and influenced by H.D.’s grounding in psychoanalysis. The Gift’s framed by an introduction by her daughter providing context in the shape of her own memories of her mother working on this, and an end-piece by H. D. thinking through the process of writing or trying to write while bombs are falling overhead, and wondering if she still has the gift. I have no idea how well this will work for readers unfamiliar with H. D.’s work or life but I found it pretty compelling, even though there were places where her unconventional method of structuring and presenting material didn’t quite succeed. My copy of this is an old Virago edition but there’s a more recent one containing additional material that might be worth looking out for.

Rating: 3.5

[Jonathan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Beautiful. She has absorbed the lessons of Stein, without becoming a mere imitator and, for me at least, her more restrained use of the techniques makes for a much better reading experience.

I have, however, just found out that there is a new edition this out which restores the cuts (about a third of the text!) made after her death by her estate. So now I am going to have to try and find a copy of that...

[Debbie Hoskins · Rating 5 out of 5]

I fell in love with H.D., beautiful, sensitive, creative. I wanted to be her.

[Rebecca Renner · Rating 1 out of 5]

NOPE.

[Ryan Salkoff · Rating 1 out of 5]

This book is written like a 104 degree fever dream, completely dislodged from any spatiotemporal continuity and adrift in reverie.

There are no “characters” to connect with (even though there are more character names in this book than most others) and there is no story to follow.

There are multiple sentences or phrases that have no real content at all, entire paragraphs written seemingly at random and with only tangential connection to whatever the current event is that is being documented or recounted.

Maybe there is something in here for psychology students or dream analysts, but I really would not recommend this to anyone.

[Lana · Rating 5 out of 5]

Brilliant… much to process and return to

[María José · Rating 3 out of 5]

Realidad y ficción. ¿Realidad o ficción? Dos planos tan ricos para la literatura como difíciles de distinguir. Acercarse a un libro siempre conlleva el mismo riesgo: creer en la fidelidad intacta de lo escrito o presuponer un elemento imaginativo que queda al servicio de la historia.

Cuando hablamos de recuerdos, podemos encontrarnos ante el mismo dilema, ¿qué parte de los acontecimientos sucedieron tal cual nos lo presenta la mente y cuáles están exagerados o “literaturizados” por la misma?

Hilda Doolittle (1886, Pennsylvania – 1961, Zurich) se acerca a este caos interpretativo con “El don” (2023, Bamba Editorial). Se trata de la reedición de una novela que se publicó por primera vez en 1969 y que forma parte de un exhaustivo trabajo de recuperación de la obra de la autora. De hecho, gran parte de sus manuscritos fueron publicados póstumamente por su hija, Perdita Schaffner, que fue almacenando todo el trabajo de su madre para hacerle finalmente justicia. Sus títulos más populares son “Trilogía” (Lumen, 2008) y “Jardín junto al mar” (Igitur, 2013).

En “El don” encontramos una de sus creaciones en prosa, una novela semi autobiográfica que, desde el primer momento, nos presenta los recuerdos difusos y fragmentados de la autora, con la peculiaridad de que es una voz infantil quien los recrea. Es fácil entender cómo percibe la vida un niño, de la forma más complicada: con episodios dispersos y con un toque de irrealidad que solo admite esa visión, tan limitada como lo es lo que le llega del mundo exterior. Por ello, los vacíos de información se completan con preguntas atolondradas y juegos simbólicos. De estos mismos se vale Hilda Doolittle para adentrarnos en algunos de los puntos esenciales de su biografía, pues en casi ningún momento abandona esa aura infantil.

No obstante, o quizás por esta razón, la lectura no es sencilla. Los capítulos se caracterizan por saltar de uno a otro suceso a partir de asociaciones por recuerdos. A esto colabora la repetición y acumulación de imágenes que conectan unos fragmentos con otros e, incluso, también con referencias mitológicas, espirituales y artísticas. Cabalgamos a lomos de su memoria, aunque esto también nos lleva a cuestionar dónde se sitúa la línea entre ficción y realidad. E, intrínsecamente, de la misma manera plantea la necesidad de seguir recordando para no olvidar nada. Hay casi una búsqueda imperante por resucitar todos esos instantes y traerlos de vuelta, agarrarlos fuerte para que no se escapen y corroborar que sí pasaron. Sin embargo, esto se convierte en una tarea más compleja de lo que en un primer momento podría presuponerse.

Pese a que, conforme pasan los capítulos, vamos conociendo más de su hogar y de su familia -siempre a modo de collage-, no podemos evitar ser conscientes del frenetismo que caracteriza estas descripciones. La rapidez del ritmo, los cambios de narrador -tanto en primera, segunda y tercera persona-, el ruido y los saltos conceptuales son elementos constantes durante la narración, pero todos tienen un sentido. Es necesario entender las claves en las que se han escrito estas páginas para identificar que, debajo de la búsqueda del recuerdo, también está la búsqueda de ese “don” que da nombre al libro. La misma incomprensión infantil que guía a la autora es la que nos hace preguntarnos quién conduce esta historia, qué motivación hay detrás, por qué los sucesos se relacionan de la forma en que lo hacen y qué es y dónde reside el “don”. Y, aunque cueste, al final es posible responder.

“Nos habíamos visto cara a cara con las realidades finales. Nos habían sacado a empujones de nuestra dimensión ordinaria del tiempo y habíamos cruzado el abismo que divide el tiempo del tiempo-fuera-del-tiempo o de lo que ellos llaman eternidad”. En el último capítulo se revela la verdad. Hilda Doolittle escribió esta novela en los años 40, coincidiendo con una época de guerra convulsa. A veces agarrarse al don de cada uno -en su caso, la literatura-, y a los recuerdos, es la única forma de parar el tiempo con el propio tiempo. Supone escapar de él a través de él y sujetar lo vivido como una prueba irrefutable de que pudo vivir e intentar que esto haga más ruido.

[Solita · Rating 4 out of 5]

I first read this around thirty years ago, give or take. I only remember that it felt a bit, I don't know, flat?, or something less than exciting. The person who recommended it to me loved it. I was reading H.D.'s poetry at the time. I love her poetry. This is a book from my own library. I decided to re-read it, as I didn't recall anything about it, and I wanted to see how it felt this time around. I wondered if I might figure out what didn't I like about it the first time. Did I miss something back then? I love the cover of this particular publication. I love it very much. It's black with a white, crescent moon surrounded in a blurred light, the title and H.D. in white, and that lovely, graceful swirled design between the title and her name (er, initials, which she used instead of her full name Hilda Doolittle). It looks elegant and dramatic. "The Gift." It's as if there were something magical in here.

Anyway, I think you have to love H.D. and know something about her and her life to appreciate this brief "novelistic memoir of childhood." It's rather a "labyrinth of associated memories." It is as if the grown American woman living in England in wartime, with her small child and her lover Bryher, the wealthy woman who becomes her benefactor and lover, reflects on her childhood, in the voice of a child. She refers to herself in the third person. "'Morning coffee, lunches and teas as usual unless a bomb falls on the building.' So read the notice at H.D.'s local restaurant, The Tea Kettle," she begins. I didn't find the whole thing a compelling read, per se, but I love H.D., and this is lovely writing, and I want to read it one more time. I have to say, though, I know she speaks as a product of her times and that particular mentality, when Native Americans (aka Indians) were considered "savages," and "Indian princess" was a common misnomer, and Euro descendants assumed themselves "superior," even those who were at heart benevolent (well, to a larger extent than today, as it's possible there is still some of this around), it does make me squirm. And most likely when I read this book the first time, it was mostly this part that made the book difficult for me to appreciate as much as it was loved by the woman who recommended it to me. (She was an English professor who knew I loved H.D.) I still love H.D. She's one of my favorite poets. Notwithstanding my own personal feelings and discomfort with some of what's in this little book, given my own life experience has been on the other side of H.D.'s own experience--uh, not privileged, shall I say?--this book is written with grace and beauty. I will def read it at least one more time. I saw that one reader here on GoodReads wrote she wanted to be H.D. Actually, I did too. For its grace and beauty, and my love of H.D., I more than just like this little book.

[iris · Rating 5 out of 5]

“The ‘thing’ that was to happen, happened soon afterwards, maybe that very autumn or winter. It was before Christmas, say November, or it was after Christmas was well over, say in February, but I cannot dat the time of the thing that happened, that happened to me personally, because I forgot it. I mean it was walled over and I was buried with it.”

Transformative, a very sensitive book. though suffering with some typical issues with Modernist lit, namely Nativism. I was so enraptured with this little novel, I cannot wait to read more of Hilda Doolittle’s prose

[Tucker · Rating 3 out of 5]

A girl growing up in England during wartime has a certain "gift" of sensitivity or clairvoyance. She just sees the world differently. This is her memoir of childhood in all its unorthodoxy.

[Natalie Navar · Rating 5 out of 5]

Another one I re-read frequently. Fabulous.

[Rebecca Luce-Kapler · Rating 4 out of 5]

I enjoyed what she was doing with time and perspective. She gave herself a challenge, I think, to represent memory and childhood experience and did it very well.

[Marga · Rating 4 out of 5]

¿Dónde empieza la genialidad y donde acaba la locura?

Preguntas que me hago al leer este libro.

He querido leer sobre HD, buscar su intimidad, buscar su trasfondo para conocer su transparencia, buscarla para entender su prosa. 

Poco hay que reflejar su historia, excepto su obra.

Extensa y controvertida. 

Es una obra diferente, con una escritura especial, hay que saber donde puso los límites dentro de un mundo de claroscuros. 

Entras en un huracán de palabras que a lo largo de los seis capítulos que componen esta novela empieza a poner en orden, respondiéndose así misma envuelta en una densa sombra. 



Nada es lo que parece en un primer momento.



H.D. escribió ‘El don’ durante los años cuarenta. La destrucción, básicamente, es el decorado.

Una niña, Hilda, observa e intenta comprender y reconstruir su historia mediante jirones hechos con sus recuerdos, recuerdos entrelazados con sueños incompletos que van dando forma a este caleidoscopio generando imágenes simétricas que nos conducen a una fascinante explosión de formas, colores, magia, sorpresa y arte.



Solo su herencia materna y un legado, un don del que no es consciente, marca, como el “tictac” de los relojes de su abuelo, su historia. Todo va reflejándose en su obra a través de una creatividad plasmada en un verdadero experimento literario. 

Encerrada en una carcasa de convencionalismos HD no es capaz de expresarse hasta que empieza a redescubrir(sé) en una realidad paralela.



Ella misma, a través de los ojos de su escritura, va reclamando una identidad. 

Quizás le viene impuesta, quizá no.

Readaptando los mitos a sus propias necesidades, imágenes en ocasiones recurrentes, que van salpicando la obra, tienen su culminación en el capítulo 6, en el final, el engranaje encaja y las imágenes cobran significado en el conjunto de la historia. 

Amante de los collages, cada pieza, cada palabra, tiene su importancia dentro de un todo, dando forma a la obra final. 

Una maravilla participar en el taller organizado por @bamba 

en @imperio donde pudimos entrever aún más el espíritu creativo de H.D.

[Sarah Allen · Rating 3 out of 5]

HD is purely enjoyable (for me) from an analytical sense. Quite hard to settle down happily and nonchalantly with her work, especially this one (though perhaps that’s good, urging us to work for it?..). But this one of hers just repetitively circles memories again and again, as if she’s using the novel form to come to some sort of psychoanalytical understanding, which at times I grew bored of. I did appreciate the last chapter, “Morning Star”, and the way it transposed the experience of the Blitz over and within history of self and youth, as well as history of indigenous and American ancestry. A generally recurring atavistic theme of HDs.

[Vivielar · Rating 4 out of 5]

El don es resbaladizo. Tanto el ansiado don familiar central del libro, como el libro en sí mismo.
No es una lectura fácil, ya que está biografía está desarrollada por la transmisión de los recuerdos. Hilda demuestra absoluta maestría reflejando cómo funciona la narrativa al intentar desenmarañar los recuerdos. Porque estos no son lineales: dan saltos, son inciertos y nunca sabes qué fue, qué es y qué cree ella que recuerda.
Nada de esto es spoiler, solo un aviso: léelo con calma, mastícalo y reflexiona sobre cómo creamos y contamos lo que nos ha ocurrido. Sobre todo si es traumático.

[Jordan Manning · Rating 3 out of 5]

I could think in terms of one girl in a crinoline, I could not visualize civilization other than a Christmas tree that had caught fire.

[Bob]

I understand that this edition corrects omissions from the one published in the 80's, and is truer to the author's original intent. When I find this edition, I'll provide an update.

[Lorena Robledillo · Rating 1 out of 5]

Abandonado pag. 30