Latest news with #literature
Irish Times
an hour ago
- General
- Irish Times
Jung at Heart – Frank McNally on the Irish legacies of a Swiss psychologist
The psychologist Carl Jung, who was born 150 years ago this weekend, seems never to have visited Ireland. But he loomed large in the lives of two of our greatest writers, for very different reasons. He and James Joyce shared a city – Zurich – for a period during and after the first world war. Unfortunately, they also shared a deep, mutual scepticism, exacerbated by the attempts of third parties to bring them together. Here's Joyce, writing to his patron Harriet Weaver in 1921: 'A bunch of people in Zurich persuaded themselves that I was gradually going mad and actually endeavoured to induce me to enter a sanatorium where a certain Doctor Jung (the Swiss Tweedledum who is not to be confused with the Viennese Tweedledee, Dr Freud) amuses himself at the expense…of ladies and gentlemen who are troubled with bees in their bonnets.' One of that bunch was Elizabeth McCormack Rockefeller, a Jungian disciple and philanthropist who subsidised Joyce for a time, but wanted him to undergo analysis and suspended funding when he wouldn't. READ MORE Jung, for his part, believed Ulysses was evidence of the author's latent schizophrenia, which he also thought explained Joyce's heavy drinking. Asked to write the preface for a German edition, he suggested among other insults that the book could be as easily read backwards as forwards. When the publishers showed that to Joyce, according to biographer Richard Ellmann, he telegraphed back a terse response in German, 'Niedrigerhangen', meaning: 'Ridicule it by making it public' (yes, they have a word for that too). Jung later repented by publishing a more respectful version and, in a letter to Joyce, admitting that difficult as he found Ulysses to read, 'I'm profoundly grateful to yourself as well as to your gigantic opus, because I learned a great deal from it.' As for the author, family tragedy eventually forced him to relent in his scepticism enough to allow Jung treat his daughter Lucia for the actual schizophrenia with which she was diagnosed in her mid-20s. 'I wouldn't go to him, but maybe he can help her,' he wrote. Jung thought Lucia had the same madness as her father, without the genius to channel it, and famously likened them to two people going to the bottom of a river: one diving and the other drowning. Ellmann thought Jung was fundamentally wrong about Joyce's supposed self-medication against mental illness, in part because of his unfamiliarity with Irish drinking habits. 'It was not easy for Jung, who had been brought up in a 'fanatical anti-alcoholic tradition', to understand Joyce, whose rearing was diametrically opposite,' he wrote. The writer drank at night only, Ellmann pointed out, and with a combination of 'purpose and relaxation'. He enjoyed company but also used it to study human behaviour and to unburden himself of anxieties. In summary: 'He engaged in excess with considerable prudence.' By contrast with Joyce, Samuel Beckett had only one encounter with Jung, but it brought a shattering insight that changed his life. When he attended a lecture by Jung in 1934, it was at the suggestion of his psychiatrist Wilfred Rupert Bion, who had been treating Beckett for depression. Some of that related to an intense relationship with his mother, an austere woman from whom he inherited his tall, thin frame and hawk-like features, but not her narrow worldview. Relations between them were exacerbated by Beckett's apparent prenatal memories of a claustrophobic life in the womb. In the lecture, Jung recalled the sad case of a pre-teenage girl he had treated years before. She was troubled by recurrent dreams, which the psychologist thought (but didn't say) were premonitions of imminent death. And she did indeed die soon afterwards. But the bit that astounded Beckett was Jung's one-line summary, added as an afterthought. For Beckett, that explained a lot about his own life. Bion thought so too and went on to develop theories involving 'psychological birth' in the womb, a result of which was that 'biological birth did not necessarily bring mental separation from the mother'. Beckett gave up therapy the same year. But he often referred to Jung's story in conversation. And a 20 years later, he put it in the mouth of Maddy Rooney, the main character in his radio play All That Fall (which I had the strange experience a while back of hearing at Tullow Church, Foxrock, in the Beckett family pew, among a blindfolded audience). All That Fall is the most localised of his works, set along Brighton Road on a race day in nearby Leopardstown. Mrs Rooney goes to meet her blind husband off the train, which we later learn has been the scene of a tragedy involving a child, never explained. On the way home, she remembers something she heard in a talk once, from 'one of those new mind doctors', that had 'haunted' her ever since. She goes on to retell the story Beckett had heard, about the 'strange and unhappy little girl' and recalls the doctor's conclusion, which he had found so mind-blowing: 'The trouble with her was that she had never been really born'.
The Guardian
2 hours ago
- General
- The Guardian
Decorative books that let the shelf-obsessed appear cultured
The article on buying books by the metre to decorate a room ('Look how well-read I am!': How 'books by the metre' add the final touch to your home – or your image, 22 July) reminded me of the famous service offered by Flann O'Brien, writing as Myles na gCopaleen, to those people who wanted to appear cultured but were too busy to read. Levels of book-handling are offered from Popular Handling to Handling Superb, or Le Traitement Superbe. The satirical fantasy is available to read in The Best of Myles. My 1975 Picador copy needs no such service, not because it's been read several times, but because the low standards of British book production mean the pages are browned, the spine is reassuringly cracked, and if I tried to reread it the whole book would fall LancasterPeakirk, Cambridgeshire I bought an original cartoon for my bookshop partner's 50th birthday. A bookstall keeper had a huge notice on his stall. 'Books For Sale! RED ONES, BLUE ONES, GREEN ONES.' But used to it as I was, I was still shocked when people bought sets of leather-bound books to furnish their shelves: Kipling red, Galsworthy dark blue (and much cheaper) Stevenson pale blue. However, beautiful as it was, even non-bookish customers balked at having five yards of The Christian World Pulpit in their SquiresSt Andrews, Fife When I was in practice as a solicitor, I was responsible for my firm's library. In those days, legal textbooks, law reports and books of legislation were substantial and handsome hardbacks. But new editions and replacements were constantly being issued by the publishers. So what to do with the redundant volumes? Fortunately, I found a few local pubs and restaurants that were willing to take a shelfful at a time. Sadly, I was never able to break into television with our old books, but several firms obviously have. Look at any TV drama and if they have bookshelves in a scene, you can almost guarantee that ancient copies of Halsbury's Laws, Halsbury's Statutes, the Encyclopaedia of Forms and Precedents etc will be on HeymansBackwell, Somerset If people are buying 'metres of books' to decorate, how am I going to peruse their bookshelves to see what they are really interested in? That's always been an enjoyable part of visiting someone's home for me. This is possibly one of the dumbest decorating trends I've heard WilliamsNetley Abbey, Hampshire Have an opinion on anything you've read in the Guardian today? Please email us your letter and it will be considered for publication in our letters section.
Vogue
3 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Vogue
What Actually Happens in the Second ‘Devil Wears Prada' Book? We're So Glad You Asked
Before we begin, a disclaimer: My tolerance for trashy literature is quite high. I love an airport novel—the frothier the better—and my preferred vacation reading is the literary equivalent of Love Island. The point being: I am not a snob. I love a bad rom-com. I love anything a bit tacky and aughts-coded. A good montage scene set to Madonna, and I'm sold. All of which is probably why The Devil Wears Prada holds a specific and sizeable place in my heart. When I started working at British Vogue, people would ask—after giving my outfit a once over—'What's it like?' which roughly translated to, 'How Devil Wears Prada is it?' While I'm yet to spot a cerulean belt or a Harry Potter manuscript flying around the office (though there was a Manolo Blahnik gift bag kicking around the other day), I can't pretend the 2006 film didn't shape my career aspirations and hair color choices. And there have definitely been moments in my personal and professional life that have bordered on cosplay, e.g. the time I got hit by a car and went as black-eyed, red-haired, hobbling Emily for Halloween (sadly, no Hermès scarves in sight). Despite cranking up KT Tunstall's 'Suddenly I See' during moments of anguish, there's been a void in my life that only Andy, Miranda, and the gang could fill—and so I decided it was time to plug that Prada-shaped hole with the original book's creatively named follow-up: Revenge Wears Prada. The novel picks up a decade after Andy dramatically quit Runway after one too many trips around Paris in a town car. She's now the editor of a glossy bridal magazine and is married to Max Harrison, a vaguely Succession-adjacent publishing heir with outdoorsy hobbies and a sensitive side (he doesn't drink). Within a few chapters, I was bored to tears of the placeholder hunk that is Max, though at least the God-awful Jarlsberg-loving boyfriend from the first film had disappeared to Boston, taking his port wine reductions and unsupportive attitude with him.
The Sun
a day ago
- Entertainment
- The Sun
Husband of iconic children's book author leaves huge £1.3million fortune to family after his death
THE BELOVED husband of Gruffalo author Julia Donaldson left a £1.3m fortune to his family, it has emerged. Dr Malcolm Donaldson was a paediatric consultant and senior lecturer in child health at the University of Glasgow until his retirement. 3 3 The university later appointed him honorary senior research fellow at its School of Medicine, Dentistry & Nursing. He was married to Julia, whose children's books The Gruffalo and The Gruffalo's Child have been global best-sellers, for 52 years. He passed away aged 75 in September last year, and probate documents revealed he left an estate valued at £1,322,528. A will he prepared in 2020 instructed his fortune should be handed to his family. Julia is the author of over 184 published works and a former Children's Laureate. The Gruffalo was first published in 1999 and has sold more than 13.5m copies. The couple lived in the Glasgow suburb of Bearsden from 1987 until moving to Surrey in 2014. As a highly respected academic, Dr Donaldson wrote or contributed to more than 180 publications, papers and books. But he was also an accomplished actor, singer and guitarist who accompanied his wife to perform her songs and stories at festivals, schools, libraries and bookshops around the world. His younger patients also gave him the affectionate nickname Dr Gruffalo. Brits urged to 'look in loft' as 5 popular 90s toys could make you serious money Tributes were paid to Donaldson after his death. Axel Scheffler, who illustrated the Gruffalo books, said: 'I have known Malcolm for 30 years and always admired his enthusiasm for our books, Julia's work and children's books in general. "All this, besides being a paediatric consultant and giving lectures all over the world. "His true passion was performing with Julia on stage, playing the guitar and acting – especially his legendary suave role of the Fox in The Gruffalo. "He will be deeply missed.' The British Society for Paediatric Endocrinology and Diabetes (BSPED) said: "His contributions will continue to resonate in the field of paediatric endocrinology and child health in the UK, Europe and beyond for many years to come. "His warmth, wisdom and gentle spirit will be deeply missed but forever remembered by all who knew him."
Wall Street Journal
a day ago
- Entertainment
- Wall Street Journal
‘Too Good to Be Altogether Lost' Review: Back to the Little House
One of the strangest aspects of the cultural madness that exploded around the Covid-19 years was the frantic literary passion to disavow books and writers not in total keeping with the political fashion of the moment. Driven by a new mania for ideological purity, iconoclasts in the children's-book business sought to extirpate any hint of the offensive. 'Sensitivity readers' combed through manuscripts for wrongthink. Older works were eliminated, bowdlerized or memory-holed, including those by Dr. Seuss, Roald Dahl and Laura Ingalls Wilder. The hysteria seems to have passed. It is now possible to urge a reconsideration of rash judgments without fear of getting blackballed. In 'Too Good to Be Altogether Lost,' Pamela Smith Hill makes a cogent and delightful case for, as she puts it, 'rediscovering Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House Books.' Ms. Hill has a great mastery over her material: She wrote a 2007 account of Wilder's life and annotated Wilder's ill-starred, sad-historied autobiography, 'Pioneer Girl,' when it finally made it to print in 2014. There is, in fact, a great deal of sadness in the story of how Laura Ingalls Wilder (1867-1957) turned her childhood memories into fiction, and in this perceptive and wide-ranging account Ms. Hill not only discusses the woman's life, artistry and place in American literature. She also solves a literary mystery that has long bedeviled Wilder's legacy—and millions of her readers. 'Too Good to Be Altogether Lost' gets its title from a remark Wilder made about the stories of her youth during a speech at the Detroit Book Fair in 1937. That year, Harper & Brothers published 'On the Banks of Plum Creek'; it was Wilder's fourth work in a historical-fiction series for children for which she drew on her pioneer experiences in the West with its sod houses, prairie fires, hard winters and displaced American Indian tribes. Ms. Hill rightly applies the 'too good' phrase to the entire 'Little House' series. With one exception, the novels are vivid, textured, unforgettable tales of 19th-century hardship, grit and family life. In mounting a defense of Wilder's work, Ms. Hill necessarily tackles certain 'problematic' elements, not least the prejudicial attitudes toward Native Americans expressed by some of her characters in particular in the series' third book, 'Little House on the Prairie.'
