Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

The novel, Love in the Time of Cholera, would probably never be published today. The author would be told that it was too dense, too long and that it didn’t have enough plot. So we are very lucky that publishers of the past had a different take on literature: novels could just be a pleasure to read - as this one was.

There are three main characters in the novel and a host of others so colourful that they could have had a novel based on them alone. The story starts with the death of one, Jeremiah de Saint-Amour, who leaves a letter for one of the central characters, Dr Juvenal Urbino. Urbino finds the letter so disturbing that he does the unthinkable and changes the pattern of his day

Some critics wonder if this novel is tragedy or soap opera? It is both. Others describe it as tragic and magical, erotic and absurd. It certainly has some of this in it. But it is essentially a love story: married love, erotic love, yearning love and love that stands the test of time. And the three central characters, Urbino, his wife Fermina Daza and Florentino Ariza, all experience different forms of love.

Florentino Ariza is perhaps the main character: he is a dreamer, romantic, desperate in his search for closeness and love. He thinks love is all and falls deeply in love with Fermina when she is only a girl but is thwarted in his attempt to marry her. He spends his entire life waiting for the time when she will be his. Although in the meantime he experiences physical love – often carnal and erotic experiences – he never loses sight of the one he is ‘keeping’ himself for.

Unlike Florentino, Urbino appears to be rational but it turns out that his view of life and marriage is just as strange. He thinks that ‘the most important thing in a marriage is not happiness, but stability’. On their marriage, Fermina and Urbino do not love each other but Urbino thinks that in time ‘there would be no obstacle to their inventing true love”.

As a girl Fermina Daza enjoys the idea of being in love with Florentino: when she realises it was an infatuation she marries Urbino, who is everything Florentino is not. He has position, power, good looks, style and she enjoys what these benefits bring throughout her marriage and believes that they finally love each other. They certainly rely on each other. However, when her husband dies she wonders if she ever did love Urbino. And Florentino has his chance.

Our host – who chose this book – did a sizeable amount of research regarding the history of the setting and the author’s life: the former was fascinating, the latter illuminating. It would be very interesting to read about the history of Columbia before reading the book, because although we all know it is beset by drug dealing gangs, kidnappings and killings we were surprised to find that this has all been going on for hundreds of years!

But, it would probably not such a good idea to know all the personal life of the author beforehand as it might colour the reader’s view of the characters and their relationships too much. Marquez, born in 1928, started writing Love in the Time of Cholera in 1965. How come a guy, and one of only 37, knew so much about women and marriage? He was brought up by his grandmother and was surrounded by aunts which might explain it.

Marquez describes all the minutiae of married life brilliantly, often with humour. And he describes ageing in a very unsentimental way but so sympathetically. His observation is astute. He shows an understanding of the way that women tick which is not always the case in novels about women written by men.

Our groupies all loved the book but there were one or two question marks: we were not convinced of the need for the fleeting initial character, Jeremiah, nor do we ever get to hear what this letter contains, which annoyed some of us. Nor did we think that the introduction of the character, America, was necessary and most of us thought it introduced a jarring note. But, overall, those who had read it last twenty odd years ago, or those who were reading it for the first time, all thought it should definitely be on everyone’s Must Read list.

Lucy
www.lucyannwrites.blogspot.com

Elder Weeds

This is the best of summer time but the worst of times: the evenings are cool but long – I can work in the garden till after 9 o’clock - but it’s past 21st June, the longest day. So, before the evenings warm up and I have a chance to sit out at night and enjoy the summer scents with a glass of sauvignon blanc, the long evenings will be gone.

And gone before I’ve conquered the weeds. Everything in the garden has grown like mad this year – I’m sure I say this every year – but we have had weather weeds love: warm and wet. I am in the beds and borders until dusk hacking them back, pulling them out by their roots, un-entangling them from the plants and cursing them to kingdom come.

Bindweed is my biggest problem because if I leave the tiniest piece of root in the soil it will come back sure as eggs is eggs. Then there are nettles, I like to leave some in a wild area for the butterflies, but the pesky things know no bounds and encroach on the borders. And finally, after many smug years, we have fallen prey to ground elder.

I mistakenly thought it was some angelica that had self-seeded - prettily shaped bright green leaf - but by the time I realised my mistake the stuff had spread everywhere. It had obviously sneaked its way past me in a potted plant and now I’m stuck with it. It creeps until its invaded everywhere and it’s a real menace to get rid of. I shall still be battling years from now.

But not all weeds are a total menace. Take elderflowers; not the sought after Sambucus nigra with its wonderful dark leaves or its relative, Sambucus canadensis ‘Aurea’, with its bright yellow-green ones but plain old Sambucus canadensis. Several of them have self-seeded in the garden and although they grow at an alarming rate of knots - and keep coming back if not dug up with all roots – they do produce wonderful flat white panicles that look very attractive, followed by lots of dark crimson berries that the birds love.

And those plate-like flowers make the most marvellous drinks. For years I made elderflower champagne but it was very temperamental - the gas makes the bottles unstable. I finally stopped when one batch nearly gave us heart failure as it exploded in the garden shed. Quite apart from the shock, what a mess! I also once made elderberry cordial but it took a mountain of berries to produce a very small bottle of cordial: not worth the effort.

But, elderflower cordial is quite another matter: it couldn’t be quicker or easier to make and it’s very well behaved - lasts for years! The flowers are out in mid-June in time to make the cordial and store it for a few weeks - diluted with ten times the amount of sparkling water - when it makes a very refreshing cooler on warm summer days. It’s also good poured over ice-cream or used with gooseberry puddings.

To make it, water and sugar are boiled to a syrup, citric acid and lemon juice added, and about 20 heads of flowers steeped in the mixture for 24 hours. Hey presto – elderflower cordial. Of course it always needs more bottles than I have and there is a mad scrabble emptying dregs from anything I can find: the presentable bottles make nice gifts when visiting friends. Elderflower: a weed to grapple with but a weed with a heart.

Lucy
www.lucyannwrites.blogspot.com

The Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts

It's always pleasing to get an invitation to the Summer Show at the Royal Academy of Arts and it’s good fun to go but .....it’s not the sort of show that you want to pay a load of good money to see!

Why not? Well, it’s a jumble: a mish mash of different tastes, a rag bag of artists’ work, a mix of medias with a number of items of dubious quality. But, it’s for just this reason that many will tell you that this is why they like to go.

This year a number of people have curated a gallery with what they consider are interesting or arresting works, by amateur or well-known artists. They are artists, art historians or others with the reputation for artistic taste. Taste is so subjective though: the very first gallery celebrates the art of R.B.Kitaj, if celebrates is the right word. Fortunately, after that it could only get better.

In the Large Weston Room the walls were covered with the questionable, the mundane, the good and the very good. The gallery is a mixture of etching, aquatints, woodcuts, silk screens, lithographs and photographs, most of them affordable. Different styles and media seemed to be put together any old way but the room was packed with visitors who were finding it all rather interesting.

Next to it was the Small Weston Room, where oils and acrylics completely covered the walls, all cheek by jowl in any old order. Some works were very boring, others ok but then – what joy – a hidden pearl: a Bernard Dunstan, a Diana Armfield oil. Then a watercolour by Leslie Worth and my impression of the event was definitely on the up.

After a Pimms and a packet of crisps in the next gallery – very bright and very large canvases there – I was definitely feeling in a more mellow mood. But it wasn’t always easy to keep that way. Gallery VI was devoted to architecture – models, drawings, photographs – and was inspiring and interesting (and that wasn’t the booze talking) and the next gallery provided me with more to inspire and delight, some oils of landscapes by Donald Hamilton Fraser and Ivor Abrahams’ figures.

But gallery VIII was a little less calming: Tracey Emin was the curator and she was out to shock. One or two pieces did just that with nothing else to them they seemed a bit pointless but, surprisingly, a truly shock factor sculpture of pink hands and pink members – which looked nothing but a mess of pink parts – very cleverly produced two silhouettes of heads when projected on to the wall!

And in one of the next galleries I was really impressed by the postcode collages by David Mach – made of millions of slithers and cut-outs of postcards the effect is multi-layered in every sense of the word. Yes, they were art and they were stunning to boot. And there was wit: Margaret Calvert’s, ‘Woman at Work’, was one.

One reason the show is so popular with members of the public is that most of the works on display are for sale. Many of the more modestly priced pieces by well known artists who are Royal Academicians – mostly numbered prints – are covered with little red stickers on the very first morning. I did wonder why when I saw some of them: it may be that this is a buyer’s chance to do a little investing – in the hope the value will increase when the darling drops of the proverbial perch – or perhaps it’s the chance to own a piece of work by a well-know artist.

So it’s not a serious show no matter how the RA tries to convince us that their worthy curators have managed to give us something new and stimulating. It’s a circus of a show, a bit of a joke, a chance to see worthy works sitting next to our Billie’s painting of the garden. And we can all benefit from a less rarefied view of art sometimes: a little bit of fun never hurt anyone.

Lucy Ann White
www.lucyannwrites.blogspot.com

Better: A Surgeon's Notes on Performance

Better: A Surgeon’s Notes on Performance: not a book that I would ever have considered picking up, let alone reading. The groupie who suggested Better is a doctor, and an American one at that: ah, we thought, this book will be very medical, very deep. But that is the great thing about book groups; members are encouraged to read out of their comfort zone, often with a pleasant result.

Atul Gawende is a surgeon in one of Boston’s leading hospitals – no ordinary surgeon I might add. He also has a degree in PPE from Balliol, is an assistant professor at Harvard School of Public Health, a staff writer on The New Yorker and a writer of two books to date. This,his second, is based on some essays that he originally wrote for the New Yorker.

He’s arranged the essays into a book of three parts: Diligence, Doing Right and Ingenuity. It is a warm, easy to digest, interesting read in which the author is not ashamed to admit to his own mistakes. And the overall message is: how can doctors do better? What does it take to go from being good, to being better. Indeed, how can we all do better at whatever it is we attempt.


Each of Gawende’s chapters focuses on a particular area of medicine and one in which change - sometimes of the most minor - can make the difference between correct and incorrect diagnosis, average and excellent treatment, life and death. In the first part, Diligence, he starts with a chapter entitled ‘On Washing Hands’ and shows that just how well it is followed can impact of the worldwide hospital problem of MRSA.

In the next chapter, ‘The Mop Up’, he looks at vaccination programmes and how this has had world changing results, but that when it is not carried out the effect can be fatal. In these chapters, as in all the following ones, Gawande does not preach, nor does he patronize, but instead he deconstructs the reasoning behind these practices and shows how the issues are often more complex than it might seem on the surface. Everywhere he finds paradox, conundrums, quandaries, heroism and dedication.

In the second part, Doing Right, there is a chapter ‘On Fighting’ and how it is necessary to fight for your patient when everything around the doctor tells him that he has done all he can. I guess it could be called ‘going that extra mile’. His style for each chapter begins with a short story, usually open-ended. He then goes off at a tangent with a human tale or other. Finally, at the end of the chapter, he draws all the threads of his tale together and often leaves the reader with a question, philosophical poser or bon mot.

‘The Score’ is a chapter in part three, entitled Ingenuity, in which Gawende relates the story of a multi-talented female doctor who, in 1933, was thwarted in her attempt to be accepted as a surgeon because of her sex. She went on to devise a test that is still used today to score the condition of a new born baby. Ingenuity, the reader can see, applies to us all no matter what job we do.

The chapter, ‘The Bell Curve’, describes the treatment of cystic fibrosis: he explains the graph – the bell curve - that shows the results of all the centers treating it in the USA. He explains that no matter how the treatments improve there will always be a bell curve which shows the average outcome of treatment. However, at the end of this long and interesting essay he concludes that the average may always be there but that is always room to raise the bar and for every one to try and be above average.

All of us in the book group enjoyed the book, everyone finished it, and it made us question how we do things, if we are happy to be average, if we do go that extra mile and try to be better as often as we should. Our French groupie described is as a ‘very American’ book – which it is – but a very good one. I shall read it again, if for nothing else, to remind me to try harder and to wash my hands that bit longer and that bit better.

Lucy
www.lucyannwrites.blogspot.com

Chelsea Flower Show

The Chelsea Flower Show opened yesterday, but only to the Queen and the Royal Family, the great and the good, the famous and not so famous like the press….and lucky old me.

As I explained about the show last year - just read the Chelsea blog of May 2007 by looking through my archive – and you can see it all on television anyway, I’m going to take this opportunity of doing a bit of professional soap-boxing.

If I’ve heard the remark, “It’s very green this time”, or, “There’s not a lot of colour in the show gardens”, once this year then I’ve heard it ten times. And I can only repeat what I say in reply: “Gardens should be green and green is a colour”.

But of course I know what they mean: some people like riotous clashing colours, others like toning shades of pastels or vibrant hues in their beds and borders. But these colours would all be unbearable without the background green of the leaves or grass. In the marquee and in many of the show gardens small and large there were some amazing flowering plants, whether bulbs, perennials or annuals. All were quality plants which were breathtakingly beautiful, spectacular, delicate or just plain pretty.

But a garden of green can be colourful and interesting in its own right. There are very many greens: pale, bright, dark, light, yellow, acid, variegated. And there are very many textures to leaves: crinkled, smooth, glossy, matt, ribbed, rough, feathery. Shapes? What about leaf shapes: round, linear, heart-shaped, oval, dissected, palmate. Then the very form and size of the plant adds an enormous interest. And put together these all create a pattern, or lots of different patterns, that add interest by their contrast or complimentary qualities.

So an all green garden can provide colour, texture, form, pattern, shape and size. Just look at the garden designed by Tom Stuart-Smith for Laurent-Perrier: this is one of the show gardens described by many as Very Green, and Not a Lot of Colour. But it is the most interesting garden because the designer has combined all the above with an interesting layout, real attention to detail and the use of top quality plants.

Although, look again, and the design does include either subtle hints of another colour – mostly white – or occasional splashes of something other than green as a highlight. And there is drama: the trees he has used for height - hornbeams – are pruned in a highly unusual way. Water is there too, always a pleasing component, and its smooth, dark surface reflects the different elements. Believe me, the garden’s a knock-out.

Of course gardens of the past were often very green: look at the clipped edged beds and hedges of eighteenth century gardens or the landscapes of Capability Brown, all sinuous shapes of smooth green and clumps of trees. And those classical gardens of Italy with their evergreen box and yew in pots or tubs of green leaved fruit trees. We are drawn to those landscapes: we love our parks with their grass and trees, our urban street trees, our countryside hedgerows and verges. Why do we like them so much? Why have these landscapes such a timeless appeal?

Those designers of yesteryear knew what we seem to have forgotten with all our choice of flowers and bulbs: that green is a very calming colour, a colour to refresh the spirit and the rest the mind. And we all seem to need a bit of that nowadays.

Lucy
www.lucyannwrites.blogspot.com

Chelsea Pensioners

It’s nearly time for The Chelsea Flower Show again, and as usual it will be held in the grounds of the Royal Hospital, Chelsea, one of the prime sites in London. Commissioned by Charles I and built by Christopher Wren in 1618, this is the home of the Chelsea Pensioners and must be the grandest old folks’ homes in all of England.

As organisers and exhibitors of the prestigious show labour to transform the gardens of the Hospital into a showground, and the massive machinery of it all lurches into action, spare a thought for whose real garden is being used for the purpose. The Royal Hospital, Chelsea, is home to those who have served in the army and have an army pension, are over 65 years of age and either ill or infirm and none should have any dependents.

In fact the residents watch the building of the show with interest: this is a highlight of the Hospital year and one of their main forms of revenue. When the show is on they change from their normal navy blue uniform into their ‘scarlets’ – a red wool dress jacket – and get to sport their tricorne hats when Royalty visits the show.


This is not just the home of the Pensioners it is their own little world. They refer to the Hospital as a small village: there is a library, pub, post office, billiards and snooker tables, laundry, dry cleaners, workshops for crafts, an art studio and a band. Everything is all found for them: they take breakfast, lunch and high tea in the Great Hall and for single men this is one of the greatest benefits. To give you a sense of the history of the place, the wood that was used for the walls and the floor of the Great Hall in 1652 is said to have come from the captured French Fleet.

The men each have their own ‘berths’ – like wooden stalls – in what are known as The Long Wards, on the top two floors of the building. Berths are each fitted with a bed, chest, desk and chair. There is a hatch which opens onto a communal corridor with windows. But revenue is needed to upgrade these so that each man has his own facilities and a small reading room with a view. If the men are ill or need respite care they are admitted to the infirmary.

And it is because a new infirmary is being built – which will give the men their own en-suite facilities – that the revenue raised by their fund raising events, and Chelsea Flower Show in particular, is so important. When the new infirmary is finished the present one in Light Horse Court – now too small - will be made available for ex-army women. Women? Ye Gods, the men say. But even the pensioners have to move with the times.

Fortunately the formal grass courts that surround the buildings of the hospital are not used for the show during Chelsea week. This means that Pensioners still have somewhere to rest and chat to their comrades. They are on the whole a game bunch and keep a keen eye out for the excitement and public spectacle of the incomparable Chelsea Flower Show.

May Day

A merry dance around a Maypole decorated with coloured ribbons, handkerchiefs and flags; A May Queen dressed all in white, her head crowned with flowers; bowers of birch and blossoming May branches: these are the acceptable remains of the pagan Anglo-Saxon festival of May Day. We will draw a veil over the centuries when loose living men and maids cavorted all night in the woodland and courtiers and their consorts banqueted in arbours and made merry.

In 1889 May Day became Labour Day in Socialist France - in Russia much the same – and many of the traditions of May Day became subsumed. England – unlike France and Russia - had no peasants. Countrymen were not disenfranchised and could own land and somehow Labour Day and May Day festivals managed to remain separate. But in England May Day simply faded as a widespread festival as the traditional May Poles and village Greens disappeared.

It was the pre-Raphaelites who revived May Day, interested as they were in rustic traditions and festivals. William Morris believed that an honest and capable craftsman could produce an item that was not only useful but beautiful too using basic materials such as wood, iron, stone and clay. He was always pleased to find a link between the countryman and his skills, the simplicity of rural life and its sacred and magical rituals.

And Tennyson in his poem, The May Queen, celebrated the tradition:

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,
If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break;
But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

But it was Ruskin who did the most to revive the customs by reintroducing them to his pupils. In Oxford today there a still May Day rituals as there are in many market towns and villages throughout England. The dance, Strip the Willow, must surely be associated with May Day, Morris Men and Maypole dancers still perform on May Day and May Carols are still sometimes sung.

The superstition that it is unlucky to bring the May blossom into the house is rooted perhaps in the idea that the tree was sacred and still holds sway amongst some country folk today. But flowers still remain central to the idea of May Day everywhere. One lovely aspect of 1st May in France is the wearing of a Lily of the Valley: nothing could be sweeter than that or a more pleasing token of spring.

In England the flowers that were traditionally associated with May Day, as garlands or for decorating our houses, are still part of our landscape. The heady scent of lilac blooms fill our gardens, the purple haze of bluebells cover woodland floors and delicate blossom decorates the apple boughs of the orchard.

Only the simple cowslip – that flower of the meadow in May – is no longer as widespread as fifty years ago. Cowslips were traditionally made into May garlands and balls. They could be cut and tied into a bunch with ribbon and finally used to top a stripped willow-wand. Alternatively they might have been used for a hanging garland in the form of a globe, a crown or a spiral. These hark back to Celtic rituals, Saxon pageants and the festivals of Roman Britain with their goddess of flowers, Flora.

One ancient pageant was the Battle of Winter and Summer: flowers and dancing represented summer and chased winter out of the fields. And it is still true,I'm glad to say, that May chases Winter away.

Lucy
www.lucyannwrites.blogspot.com