Harriet Devine's Blog

True Grit

If you're at all familiar with this blog, you may not need telling that I'm not usually a fan of the Western genre of literature. And it's the same with films. When I was young I used to avoid Westerns like the plague, thinking they were a) boring and b) boys' movies. I'm sure in some cases I'd still agree with my earlier self, but being older and wiser, I've pushed the goalposts outwards quite considerably, certainly as far as films are concerned. So a few years ago,  when the film of True Grit came out, I was more than willing to give it a try. Of course the fact that it was directed by the brilliant Coen brothers, and that it starred Jeff Bridges, who I simply cannot resist, no matter what he's in, made a big difference. And what a great film it was. 

At the time, I don't think I was even aware that the film had been based on a novel. but so indeed it was. True Grit by Charles Portis was published in 1968, and almost immediately made into a movie starring John Wayne, who I definitely can resist, so I haven't seen that one. All this might have passed me by, anyway, except that the friend with whom I recently watched the 2010 movie (my second viewing) not only recommended the book but actually bought me a copy. And when I saw that it had an afterword by no less than Donna Tartt, I couldn't wait to get into it.

True Grit is remarkable for its story, which tells of Mattie Ross, a fourteen year old girl (wonderfully played in the movie by Hailee Steinfeld) who sets out to avenge her father's murder. She recruits a tough US Marshall, Rooster Cogburn, to help her with her quest, and together the two venture into the wild Indian country, where they are joined by LaBoeuf, a Texas Ranger. The two men initally quarrel, but when they come to an agreement, they decide to leave Mattie behind. But Mattie is having none of it. She picked Cogburn for his grit, but her own is at least equal to his.

But it's also remarkable for the way the story is told. It's narrated by Mattie herself, twenty-five years later, and the narrative voice (which is wonderfully captured in the recent film) is really entertaining and exceptional. Mattie the narrator is a churchgoing spinster, whose tone of voice and attitudes come through extraordinarily well both in her story-telling and in the dialogues she transcribes. Mattie the child is prim and proper, hardheaded, industrious, and has a great head for business. She gives Cogburn a very hard time about his drinking: "I would not put a thief in my mouth to steal my brains". She's totally without a sense of humour, though we can often see the funny side of stories she tells about herself and others, and above all she is completely, single-mindedly dedicated to the task she has set herself. And fortunately the Coens decided to make the film true to this exceptional voice, which gives it a whole layer of interest and enjoyment. 

And of course it's great to have Donna Tartt's views on the novel -- which she, and indeed her entire family, have loved since it first appeared -- as an afterword. I'll leave you with a passage she quotes as being the most gratifying moment in the whole book, when Rooster loses his ambivalence about Mattie when he sees her being attacked with a switch by Le Boeuf.

I began to cry, I could not help it, but more from anger and embarrassment than pain. I said to Rooster, "Are you going to let him do this?"

He dropped his cigarette to the ground and said, "No, I don't believe I will. Put your switch away, LaBoeuf. She has got the best of us".

"She has not got the best of me", replied the Ranger.

Rooster said, "That will do, I said".

LaBoeuf paid him no heed.

Rooster raised his voice and said "Put that switch down, LaBoeuf! Do you hear me talking to you?"

LaBoeuf stopped and looked at him. Then he said, "I am going ahead with what I started".

Rooster pulled his cedar-handled revolver and cocked it with his thumb and threw down on LaBoeuf. He said, "It will be the biggest mistake you ever made, you Texas brush-popper".

Wonderful stuff.

Today's (guest) post is brought to you by the letter...

I had a comment from Carol, who had loved the meme I posted recently, saying she'd love to do it but hadn't a blog of her own. So I offered to post it for her, and here it is -- I added the photos myself, and wish I'd had one of Carol's real kitchen table, which sounds wonderful Thanks again, Carol.. 

My letter is T. I am very grateful to you for broadcasting (correct verb?) my list.

It hasn't been easy, I swung between Anthony Trollope,  William Trevor and Mark Twain for my favourite author. Then Elizabeth Taylor, Rosemary Tonks , Colm Toibin, and current favourite detective story author, Peter Temple called.

I've landed on Trollope mainly because he keeps on giving. I can imagine rereading Trevor, have reread Twain and Taylor but Trollope I've enjoyed many many times.

OK, the novel - Peter Temple's 'Truth' because the flawed characters' actions and decision making is so realistically edgy, (reminding me of the no time to decide actions I had to make as school teacher and then live with). The integrity of the central Head of Homicide main man hurts him but he sticks to his beliefs. I also like very much Tom Sawyer, The Tale of Two Cities, and Too Late the Phalarope. 
(And many titles beginning with The....)

 

My song is Tam Lin. It's a good powerful tale with lots of depth, meaning and challenge. It's mysterious and sung well by many including and especially Annie Briggs, Fairport Convention, Steeleye Span and The Decembrists.
Alan Garner, Susan Cooper, Catherine Storr and Rosemary Sutcliffe have used it in great novels (amongst many others) (and my grandchildren live in the Borders where the story originates). The master storyteller Hugh Lupton tells and sings it well, explains its' history in exemplary fashion, and has used it on walking holidays in East Anglia.

 

For a film I've chosen A Taste of Honey (I could have chosen A Tale of Two Cities with Dirk Bogarde, I struggled with my desire to weep when Sidney Carton did his 'It is a far far better thing' speech because boys from my junior school class were sitting close by. I was about 8 at the time I might find it hammy now, who knows) Shelagh Delaney's play was seminal back then, and I/we loved that black & white film.

My thing is my kitchen Table, seldom clear almost always busy with small vases of garden flowers, projects, being read books and newly arrived ones, to do lists too, not to say food preparation, coffee and mail. The table was made by a dear friend* from reclaimed Victorian staircase wood (from houses demolished in Clerkenwell?) so is friendly, large, sturdy. The shiny ends of metal bolts that held the staircase together will always show. The surface has been sanded and revarnished once since he made it about 40 years ago. As well as eating there, my children painted, model made and sat around it until flying from home as adults. (*My friend came here as a refugee from Uganda when Idi Amin threw out the Asians. We worked together with troubled inner city children during the 70's & 80's then separately though connected in the 90's and have remained friends as our families grew, married, had their own children.)  I've taught children and adults around it, edited good writing and produced a magazine on it. Now I read blogs there and respond to them too.  

 

 

Girls Reading

 

Here's a photo for a change. This is New York: Girls in Fairy Costumes Reading, 1938. Photographed by André Kertész (Hungarian, 1894-1985). Sent to me by Dark Puss, to whom many thaks. 

Headhunters

I had a go at Jo Nesbo a while back -- read one of his Harry Hole novels, which I didn't particularly like. So I'm not sure why I ended up reading, or rather listening to, this one -- perhaps Audible described it in an interesting way? Anyway, it was absolutely rivetting though not one for the fainthearted. I do read a lot of crime novels, especially at the moment, but I tend to go for something rather milder, with more emphasis on the solving of mysteries than on violence and gore. Well, those things do figure here, I can tell you, though I was able to stomach them because of the brilliance of the twists and turns of the plot.

Set in Oslo, this is the story of Roger Brown, who is a highly successful headhunter. Here's a bit of the opening chapter which shows his interviewing technique:

'I'd like..', I said with a smile. Not the open, unconditional smile that invites a stranger to come in from the cold, not the frivolous one. But the courteous, semi-warm smile that, according to the literature, signals the interviewer's professionalism, objectivity and analytical approach. Indeed, it is this lack of emotional committment that causes the client to trust his interviewer's integrity....I don't put on this smile because of the literature, though. I don't give a damn about the literature; it is chock a bloc with various degrees of authoritative bullshit. No, I put on this smile because I really am professional, objective and analytical. I am a headhunter. It is not that difficult, but I am king of the heap.

 

So yes, Roger is full of himself, and yes, he has reason to be -- not only is he top of his game as a headhunter, but he also uses his interviews with rich and successful businessmen to seek out information to help him with his lucrative sideline as an art thief. He has a beautiful wife, Diana, who runs an art gallery, and life is good. Or it was, until Diana introduced him to Clas Greve, a perfect candidate for an exciting position that Roger can help him attain. Not only that, but Clas has in his possession one of the most valuable works of art in the world, one that will make Roger rich beyon his wildest dreams. But when Roger sets up the theft, safe in the knowledge that Clas is out of town for the night, he makes a discovery in Clas's flat that turns his world upside down. From that point on, things get very sticky indeed, and soon Roger is on the run from a man who turns out to be a ruthless and amoral killer. 

Well, to tell you any more would spoil the fun -- if, that is, you can stand being shocked and surprised and sometimes rather revolted at every turn. Why I can not only stand it but actually rather enjoy it is a bit of a mystery in itself, but there you are. I've just found out that there is a film of this novel and have read the Guardian review which has made me so desirous to see it that I am right now downloading it from iTunes. Isn't technology wonderful?

 

 

Woman with Book

This lovely photo -- Leslie Caron in her dressing room during the filming of The Man with a Cloak, 1951 -- was sent to me by Peter, aka Dark Puss. It came from here , where you can see lots of other people in their dressing rooms. 

An Episode of Sparrows

Yes, I know this is All Virago All August month, but I started reading this before I knew that, and anyway I never promised that was all I'd read. So -- are there any admirers of Rumer Godden out there? It is interesting to me that I never seem to read reviews of her many wonderful novels in the blogosphere, even though she was an exact contemporary (1907-1998) of many of the novelists we all rave about so much. Even if you haven't read her, you may have seen one of the films that were made from her books -- The Greengage Summer (1958, filmed 1961), The River (1946, filmed in 1951 by the great French director Jean Renoir), and the amazing Black Narcissus (1939, and filmed in 1947 by the extraordinarily talented duo Powell and Pressburger). 

It turns out that this one, published in 1956, was also filmed, as Innocent Sinners (1958), though I've never seen it or even heard of it. Nor had I ever heard of the novel till I found it a few days ago on my daughter's bookshelf. But oh how I loved it.

This, really, is a story about love, though not a love story in the accepted sense. It's set in post-war London, and in one of those parts of the city (which still exist, though there are fewer of them) where squares of wealthy houses sit side by side with streets where the houses are shabby and the people a great deal poorer. In Mortimer Square live the two middle-aged, unmarried Chesney sisters -- tough-minded, busy, successful Angela and gentle, nervous, frail Olivia. Living in nearby Catford Street are Lovejoy Mason, aged eleven, and her friend Tip Malone, who is thirteen. Though they have become unlikely friends, the two childrens' family lives could not be more different. Tip comes from a large, noisy Irish Catholic family, while Lovejoy is the daughter of a feckless, selfish, and usually absent mother whose interest in her little daughter has decreased sharply since she ceased to be "sweet" enough to be taken on stage as part of her mother's dancing act. 

Lovejoy is one of those children whose lives have been to a large extent subsumed in caring for their parents, though with Mrs Mason so often away she has had to learn to fend for herself. As a result she has developed a tough, resiliant exterior though she's pretty angry and obviously supressing a lot of pain. Having always adored her mother, she has come to recognise that her mother cares little for her and has, in fact, more or less abandoned her in their rented room. But Lovejoy suddenly makes a discovery which will transform her life -- she picks up a packet of flower seeds and gradually, after some false starts, and helped by Tip, she starts to make a garden in a disused yard behind the Catholic church. Needless to say nothing runs smoothly and when the children are discovered taking earth from the square to grow a rose bush, serious trouble descends and things look very black for poor Lovejoy.

I was talking recently about good writing, and that was partly inspired by my reading of this novel. There is so much to praise here. For one thing the characterisation is wonderfully perceptive and believable -- Godden has really seen into the hearts of these two children, both in their different ways so disadvantaged but both so bright and so sensitive, and all the other characters are also really well observed -- I particularly liked Vincent, husband of Lovejoy's landlady, who struggles to run a high-class restaurant in shabby, poverty-stricken Catford Street, and takes Lovejoy for walks in Mayfair and Chelsea to admire the quality of life he aspires to. As for Angela, prejudiced, blinkered, controlling, unable to appreciate the fine qualities of her timid, warm-hearted sister, she is a rather terrifying but totally convincing creation. The plot moves along at just the right pace, with just the right amount of uncertainty and tension and you are never sure if there is going to be a happy ending. As for the themes -- well, there's class prejudice (Angela vs the poor of Catford Street), religious prejudice (Angela and her housekeeper vs. the Roman Catholics), but above all, as I said earlier, there's love.

 Olivia, who has never loved or been loved, finds comfort and even a kind of redemption in the feeling she develops towards the children and this brings about the novel's immensely satisfying denouement. But it's the love that develops between Lovejoy and Tip that is so beautifully handled here. The adults are generally completely bemused by it, though towards the end Tip's mother comes rather unwillingly to see it for what it is. There are some wonderful moments, as when Lovejoy is being "difficult", and Tip finds himself distracted by

noticing how she had a ridge of very fine short hairs on the back of her neck, soft as down, mouse-coloured but tipped with gold; they looked as if they were protecting the tender knobs of her spine; gently Tip put out his finger and felt those little bones. It was no good; even when Lovejoy was difficult and ungrateful he found it impossible to be angry; instead he began to coax her.

As for Lovejoy, she is almost horrified to discover that Tip is the only person in the world in front of whom she can cry, and despite her sharpness towards him she misses him desperately when he is not around. So, though I said this wasn't a love story in the conventional sense, it really is, or it's what a love story really should be -- gentle, understated, innocent.

As for the quality of the writing -- well, it's not showy, poetic or obtrusive, but for me the words just leapt off the page and as you can see I enjoyed every minute of it.

Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

    Last night Film Four showed the 1994 film of Little Women which, amazingly, I had never seen. It was a book that I loved so much when I was a child that I must have read it half a dozen times. I was curious to see what they had made of it, and was pleased to see that though obviously some changes had been made it was, for me, absolutely true to the spirit of this fine book. In fact the film also covers the sequel, Good Wives, which I managed to find afterwards on the bookshelves though I don't seem to have a copy of Little Women. I raced through Good Wives this morning, marvelling rather as I did so at the thought that I must have read this aged no more than 10, and wondering what I had made then of some of the quite complex and archaic language, not to mention the literary allusions, which must have gone right over my head. What struck and impressed me most, both in the book and in the film, was the fact that, though the books are undoubtedly rather moralistic by today's standards, they are also extremely honest, and the characters seem as real as they must have done in the 1860s. There's an interesting chapter in Good Wives, for instance, in which Meg gets so caught up with her babies that she neglects her husband John, who takes to going to his friends' house for a bit of light relief.  The marriage, which has got off to such a good start, is under threat for a while, until Meg's mother advises her to take a bit more trouble to make John feel loved again. Many people will recognise that syndrome. Of course it is Jo who is central to both books -- how I loved her when I was a child and how I still love her now, having seen three children of my own struggle with some of the issues she has to face. It's her temper, above all, the she has to learn to control, but of course she is an extraordinary feminist icon and many of her problems arise from the fact that she is denied the possibility of living the kind of life she craves for, essentially a man's life. It is interesting that though Alcott married Jo off very happily to the adorable Professor Bhaer (played in the film by the gorgeous Gabriel Byrne), she herself never married and once told an interviewer that this was because " I have fallen in love with so many pretty girls and never once the least bit with any man." I have to admit that, sentimental fool as I am, I sat there with tears pouring down my face not once but several times during the course of this movie, a very satisfying result.