You know the book you're reading is really good when you nearly miss your bus, as your nose is so firmly planted in its pages. That's what happened to me tonight. I was waiting in the little shelter in front of the university, and despite the cold, complete with gloves I was reading and turning pages. I was sure I had plenty of time before I next needed to look up and check the street for my bus, when all of a sudden she came whizzing by and stopped at the last moment--no doubt she spotted me standing there shivering. I'm lucky I have a regular driver who's nice enough to stop, as there are plenty of other drivers who wouldn't have bothered to slow down and look (and I wasn't standing out in clear sight).
I'm nearly finished with Elizabeth Jane Howard's memoir, Slipstream, and hope to finally finish it this weekend. I've really been enjoying it. I especially like her many references to other authors of the period, with whom she interacted. Today I read this wonderful passage about another favorite author, Elizabeth Taylor.
"Every week, I had to review three or four novels straight to camera--no autocue--with the floor manager holding up his fingers to show me how many minutes, or seconds, I had left. I also interviewed one author for each programme, and it was there that I met Elizabeth Taylor whose new novel, In a Summer Season, was just out. Naturally, I'd read it before the interview, and had prepared about twenty questions to ask its author. The novel was of a kind that at the time you enjoy very much, and afterwards still find yourself impressed by. It had such ease, such simplicity, and was so deliciously funny and sharp in its perception. Her economy of expression reminded me of Austen with whom far too many novelists are carlessly compared, but here it seemed really apposite. I looked forward to the interview with confidence and interest."
"Elizabeth sat quietly opposite me, her large, extremely beautiful hazel eyes fixed attentively on me each time I asked her a question, to which she answered either yes or no. In less than a minute I had none left. I hadn't the sense to realize that my questions had to be framed in such a way that they couldn't be dealt with by monosyllables, and there were five more minutes to fill. Later we sat under fluorescent lighting at a Formica table with cardboard cups of rotten grey instant coffee and her shyness remained impenetrable. After that I read everything she'd written and, much later, got to know and love her, but then it was all courtesy and embarrassment."
Isn't that a great story? Of course you know which Elizabeth Taylor novel I plan on reading next now, don't you? In case you're wondering what In a Summer Season is about, I have an older Virago copy, and the blurb reads:
"Kate Heron is a wealthy, attractive widow who lives with her son, her daughter, and her aunt Ethel in their early Victorian house outside London. She meets and marries Dermot. Ten years her junior, he is charming and feckless. Their relationship is special--strong enough to withstand their neighbors's disapproval, but an enemy grows within which threatens to tear the marriage apart. In a moving and powerful climax Elizabeth Taylor reveals both the tragic and the piercingly funny components of human loving. This is one of Taylor's most subtle and satisfying novels, bright with the author's acute sensibilities."
Hmm. It's been ages since I've picked up a Virago to read.