3.5*
A fascinating “ memoir” written as a list of short snippets of people, characters, books or bits of text, historical figures, travels that the playwright thinks were instrumental in leading to her becoming a published playwright. I it’s not exactly an exciting read, but it is fascinating how ever so gradually you can feel all of these influences helping her to become who she is meant to be. I think I would’ve enjoyed it more if I had any knowledge of who she was beforehand or of any of her plays.
A few of her choices:
My mother: “continued to encourage me to read, and by the fifth grade, I had read all the books in the school office library. She shared her secret thoughts and tears over the movies she took me to see so that I learned early that there was a secret locked inside movies and songs that caused adults to cry, to become quiet, to reminisce.”
Percy Shelley:
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped on the beloved’s bed;
And so the thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
All the Elizabeths:
Women who had whole epochs named after them. That meant I must keep trying to rise above shopping at the supermarket, gossiping with other young mothers. I was a woman too. I must try to achieve.