Valerie Eliot - T.S. Eliot

The news that Valerie Eliot died on Friday has provoked lots of pieces in the Press about her life, and her marriage to T. S. Eliot, as you'd expect.  I hadn't really thought much about her life, post-Eliot's death, but there is a lot to reflect on in her role as protector of Eliot's legacy.  An article in today's Telegraph talks about the literary widow, and asks, "who ultimately knows the dead writer better, the academics who pick over his work, or the woman who shared his life (or part of it)"

It is a very emotively worded question, and yet one that strikes at the heart (emotive again!) of a literary academic's research life.  Do we "pick over", like vultures, the works of dead authors?  And does there have to be conflict between the people who (of course) knew the writer personally, and those who read, respond to and appreciate his/her literary outputs?  

Eliot loved his wife, and I was amazed and moved by the poem he dedicated to her when he wrote his play, The Elder Statesman:

To whom I owe the leaping delight
That quickens my senses in our wakingtime
And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime,
The breathing in unison

Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other
Who think the same thoughts without need of speech
And babble the same speech without need of meaning.

No peevish winter wind shall chill
No sullen tropic sun shall wither
The roses in the rose-garden which is ours and ours only

But this dedication is for others to read:
These are private words addressed to you in public.

There is a wonderful little video clip of Valerie Eliot and Fiona Shaw, who reads this poem to her, here.  Valerie Eliot lived a long time after her husband's death:  I hope that looking after his literary estate was a real bibliotherapeutic vocation for her, and that her work will be sensitively continued by those that will continue this now she is gone.

Links to more articles of interest:
Revealed: The Remarkable Tale of T S Eliot's late love affair
The Two Mrs Eliots
Guardian Obituary

Christmas card, 1961

Christmas card, 1961, a photo by Faber Books on Flickr.

This is a lovely David Jones illustration - done for a Faber Christmas card!

Waterstone's Postcards

 When I was in Oxford last week, I found these postcards in the Waterstone's there.  Part of their rebranding exercise (and missing apostrophe gripe taken for granted!), they have some impact.  But do they work?  There's a great blog post analysing them here, and the author comes up with some great alternative straplines that suddenly make these feel not-so-good. 

 Yet, it made me wonder again at the short-sightedness of bookshops and publishers in terms of responding to what readers like, and the potential -- the huge potential -- for so much more book-related merchandise to be produced.  I was drawn to these, by the till, instantly.  Would have paid a pound or two for a set, if they hadn't (joy!) been free.  With Christmas approaching, bibliotherapy gifts are still far too thin on the ground.  Yes, I could visit The Literary Gift Company (and have), several times.  This has some interesting products, but some are, frankly, dull as dull.  And there is so much that is creative and beautiful in publishing....

 In this area, branding is a big help.  Penguin and Faber already do a limited selection of branded gift goods, and who wouldn't love a boxed set of postcards for Christmas, or some playing cards?  But -- come on, publishers, you can do so much more! 

Maybe it's time to work up a proposal for some bibliotherapy treats.....

The Caxton Window at Stationers Hall, London

On Friday, we took the new students to visit Stationers Hall, in London.  One of my favourite things there is the Caxton Window, which shows Caxton with the young King Edward IV and his Queen, Elizabeth Woodville.  On the floor, bottom left, is Wynkyn de Worde.  The window was given by Joshua Butterworth, the law bookseller, as his gift as Master in 1894. 
My photograph doesn't do it justice at all - the colours are beautiful, and the story it tells and the details around the edges mean it's hard to tire of looking at it.  The rest of the Hall has further stained glass panels depicting Shakespeare, Tyndale, St Cecilia, Caxton and Cranmer:  it is a stunning location, and easy to feel centuries of publishing history pulsing in the atmosphere....

Weird and Wonderful!

A little something to lighten a dull Sunday afternoon:  take a look at this post from another blog, The Private Library (http://privatelibrary.typepad.com/the_private_library/2011/04/really-weird-titles-and-the-private-library.html)  

 

Medieval Authorship

I've just finished writing my half of a paper for the British Branch meeting of the International Arthurian Society next week in Oxford.  Programme can be found here.  It's the first time I've collaborated on a joint paper, and (with fingers crossed that Leah agrees!) it has been a remarkably smooth experience.  I've always wanted to work more closely with colleagues who research French medieval literature, and this paper shows what value you can get from joining areas of expertise.  I'm nervous about my input: the paper looks at medieval ideas of authorship, and how publishing uses the author as a paratext to promote texts, and I've used some very current publishing examples to try and draw parallels with what Caxton was doing in the fifteenth century.  Some of the books I've found useful are A J Minnis's Medieval Ideas of Authorship, N F Blake's William Caxton and English Literary Culture, and Re-Viewing Le Morte Darthur, edited by K S Whetter and Raluca L Radulescu, particularly the essay by Tom Hanks.

After a long period with very little time for concentrated reading, am glutting on a long reading list that is in desperate need of attention.  It is taking a while to feel like my brain is connecting ideas again:  have found it difficult to switch off management / admin antennae that mean always thinking of several different tasks at once and how to achieve results, and find focussed space so that reading and thinking on one connected thread works.  I love it that my desk looks like the photo.  Bibliotherapy in a mind-muscle sense!