The Magic of Alice Hoffman

 

On Sunday, I had the pleasure of attending a virtual book event for Alice Hoffman's latest, The World That We Knew. I love how Ms. Hoffman works magical realism--if not outright magic--into her stories, and this one is no exception. And she seems like a very nice person :-)

Here are a few short takeaways:

Themes of the book include affirmation of life, but also how the tolerance of aberrant behavior often leads to terrible things. It is a fable of feminism and fantasy, a novel ultimately about mothering, especially in times of crisis. She also referred to the book as a "deadline" novel in which the characters must move fast and cannot take time for granted.

She attributes her success at so masterfully intertwining storylines in part to the fact that she is an admittedly bad knitter. Like knitting, writing can be complicated, but you still have to get the threads right.

Storytelling is sometimes seen as a lesser achievement, but Alice sees it as the female way, passing down stories the way her grandmother and mother did for her. 

Fiction tells the truth on an emotional level. It's about feeling, whereas non-fiction is often about thought.

She starts a book with a question, i.e. how did people survive a terrible time? Then she creates the world so the characters can walk in. Eventually, as all characters do, they will let her know where the story should go.

Simple enough, right? I thought the book was wonderful and wholeheartedly recommend it.

Take care, and I'll see you next time!

Joy Project: Magic

This was a fun chapter to read this time of year, because who doesn't want to believe in magic at Halloween? Kids are open to magic any time, but (with the exception of Harry Potter) adults often see it as frivolous. Impractical. We might call it superstition or fantasy and leave the pure wonderment of it to the young ones who still believe in the Tooth Fairy. 

(To be fair, there's a pretty strong cultural component, as magic is seen as very real and very potent in many Caribbean, African, and Asian countries. And Icelanders are pretty forthcoming about their belief in elves and hidden people.)

As Ingrid Fetell Lee points out, for many of us, magic is most accessible in the transformation of the mundane into something joyful and fleeting. Rainbows and fireflies and beautiful patterns of ice on a winter window--courtesy of Jack Frost, no doubt. It might seem difficult to replicate these things in our day-to-day environment--after all, magic is also elusive. For this, Ingrid turns to the play of light off of prisms, mirrors, and anything iridescent. 

Some years ago, I found this doorway divider on clearance at Target:

As soon as I saw it, I knew I wanted it hanging on the wall. Made of shell, the squares catch and subtly reflect the light, which often reminds me of a glistening stream. When the window is open, the squares clink against each other like a wind chime. It is right in my line of vision as I come down the stairs, and I never get tired of it. Before reading this chapter, I hadn't thought of it as magical, but now I do.

I hope you have something magical in store for you this weekend. The moon will be full, and that's a good start. Have a safe and healthy Halloween!

 

Joy Project: Transcendence

Hello! Before we jump into the next chapter of Joyful, I'll continue the theme of the last post by confessing a weird joyful surprise my husband and I share. I don't remember how it started, but we hide this novelty severed finger for each other to find. 

It might show up in a coat pocket or a drawer, usually some place we don't frequently check. I know, it's completely strange, but it cracks me up every time. 

So...

Moving on to the topic of transcendence. Definitions of the verb transcend include to surpass and to go beyond, but for many of us, it also means to rise above. Accordingly, Ingrid Fetell Lee poses the question, "Why is it that our emotions seem to lie along a vertical axis?" Joyous things feel light and uplifting, somber things feel heavy and low. 

The effect can be pronounced when we are physically raised off the ground, as in a treehouse or a skyscraper, but even just looking up can feel transcendent. Hot air balloons, bubbles, and clouds all have a visual lightness that results in a positive emotional payoff. 

Human beings enjoy looking up. So why don't we do it more often? Sadly, as Ingrid points out, we're often looking down at our phones--to the point that walking into obstacles while doing so has become commonplace. And most homes aren't exactly cathedral-like in their dimensions.

Though my house is a modest size, I am lucky to have a few big windows and a high ceiling on the main floor, which impart a feeling of lightness. But my writing space is in the basement, with no window nearby, and I certainly wouldn't mind bringing some transcendence to that area. 

Ingrid suggests low furniture, tall plants, vertical stripes, and long curtains to accentuate the height of a room. Maybe someday I will get creative like that. But for a quick fix, I did two things. I brought in a tall plant, which I conveniently had at my disposal, and swiveled one light fixture on my floor lamp so it points upward. These tweaks took about two minutes, and I'll let you know if they make a difference. 

I hope October is treating you well! See you next time!

 

Fingers crossed that my magic plant helps me
transcend mediocre writing!

Joy Project: Surprise

Hello! Thanks for checking in on the latest joy project installment! Chapter 6 of Joyful was a fun one, because I love to be (pleasantly) surprised. To me, that means nothing overdone, awkward, potentially embarrassing, or scary. It's as simple as catching a glimpse of the unexpected (like these painted stair risers), finding a laugh in something dull, or the serendipity of being in the right place at the right time. Keep the lavish parties; I'm happy with a coupon for a free appetizer.

I was surprised (hah!) to learn that psychologist Paul Ekman identifies surprise as one of the six primary emotions. Its purpose, writes Ingrid, is "to quickly redirect our attention." From an evolutionary perspective, that is an advantage because a surprise could signify an oncoming threat or opportunity. Joyful surprises, which hopefully those early humans also experienced, "promote upward spirals of positive emotion." I love that image, because we so often think of spirals as a descent.

Even in infancy, humans are pretty adept at recognizing things that look or sound different. To our benefit, artists of all kinds understand the value of sensory surprises. Perhaps you've heard of yarnbombing, also known as knitted graffiti, which livens up an environment with fun color and texture. Painted rocks with inspirational messages and designs have popped up all over my neighborhood during the pandemic. And I love hearing little snippets of music wafting through the air, even if it is just a kid practicing trombone. 

Yarnbombed light post

The trick is working surprise into our lives without becoming predictable. This is where the "hide-and-reveal" comes in handy. More on that next time!

Shape of Play Update

In my last post, I mentioned the idea that the most playful shapes for humans-and some other animals, too--are circles and spheres. I haven't done much in the way of decorating tweaks since then, though I really meant to get some round throw pillows. But here are the small, plant-based ways I've added spheres and circles to my life:

Marimo moss balls:

Goldfish plant in a bowl:

Air plant habitat:

String-of-pearls succulent:

And this moss terrarium:

My history of plant care is a little spotty, so it's a good thing these are all fairly low-maintenance. Because the least joyful shape for a plant is, well, dead.

I hope you're having a good week, and I'll see you soon!

Joy Project: Play

Hello! Before I jump into the next chapter of Joyful, I'll update you on my quest for harmony in the cleaning out of my mother's house. I could not be happier to report that I've crossed the finish line. Thanks to a lot of help from a lot of people--and a very cooperative local real estate market--the sale of the house closed on Monday.

The last week was a little strange, full of competing moments of nostalgia and frustration. But as I swept out the garage last Saturday, I finally got the sense that the harmony of the home had been restored, and it was ready to receive its new occupant. It was a feeling of satisfaction more than sadness, and I was delighted when a large dragonfly flew into the garage and buzzed around for a bit. If you believe in such things, dragonflies symbolize adaptability, transformation, and new beginnings. They also remind us when we need to bring a little light and joy into our lives.  

Now I just need to restore harmony in my own home, which has been kind of neglected the past few months.

And, boy, was I ready to read a chapter about play!

Many animals engage in play. It's one way they learn appropriate social behaviors. If a pup plays too rough, its litter mates will let it know. Although human play is often much more complicated, it can also be quite simple. I hadn't really thought about it this way, but the book suggests that play is the only activity that humans do solely for fun. There's generally no monetary gain or survival of the species on the line.

I imagine we all have a pretty good idea of what constitutes a playful activity. But what makes for a more playful environment? What is "the shape of play?" Sorry, triangle, it's not you. Nor you, rhombus. Research supports the idea that the most joyful shape for humans is a circle. Sharp angles subconsciously evoke danger--teeth, thorns, and various potential injuries that clumsy people like me know all too well. A curved surface feels safer and more accessible, which in turn reduces stress and promotes creativity.

Unless you have an extensive collection of decorative plates, Hula Hoops, and dartboards festooning your walls, your environment is probably more angular than not. I know mine is. So now I'm going to consider the ways in which I can add more curves, circles, and spheres in places in my home that feel particularly stuffy. And I honestly don't think I could go wrong with a bubble machine.

Stay safe and healthy, everyone! See you next time!

Joy Project: Harmony

Happy Friday, and happy last day of July! It's been more than two months since my last post, and honestly it feels as if it could have been two weeks or two years. These are such strange times, and it's easy to lose track. But the real reason I've been absent is that I've been helping my mother downsize from a four-bedroom house to a tiny apartment.

Downsizing does not come naturally to my mother. She's a keeper, a collector, a saver. She's not the only one; women of her generation learned to "waste not, want not" and were expected to be the caretakers of a family's history through its artifacts--the dishes and quilts and photographs and mementos, sometimes going back generations.

I knew the house was full--that was more than apparent to the eye--but once my sister and I started digging in, the density surprised me. Every closet, every shelf, every drawer, every cupboard. I couldn't help but think of a black hole drawing in matter and compressing it until not an inch of space remained. I won't go into all the details at this point, but suffice it to say that the clean-out is requiring a significant amount of physical and emotional energy. And time.

So this is the context in which I read the next chapter of Ingrid's book, Joyful. The chapter entitled--wait for it--"Harmony".  (For anyone who does not believe the Universe has a sense of humor, I submit this bit of synchronicity as Exhibit A.) 

A significant component of harmonious surroundings is order. Though humans love things wild and messy sometimes, we are also drawn to order. Order implies safety and predictability, which were vital to early humans. "The greater the complexity in an environment," Ingrid writes, "the greater the need for an underlying harmony to bring a sense of order and ease to a space." Order is a manifestation of harmony, and "harmony offers visible evidence that someone cares enough about a place to invest energy in it."

I'll add to that a lesson I learned from my mother's house: if you do not invest energy in maintaining order, the resulting disorder will take that energy from you, and then some. 

For ideas on how to promote harmony within a space, many people turn to the Chinese art of feng shui. And although it is prone to mystical overtones, it really is just about the smooth flow of energy. For me, a big part of that is simply paying attention. We get so good at overlooking things that we hardly notice the stack of mail on the table or the chair that everyone bumps into. Ingrid describes this as "finding friction at a moment when you really want momentum."

So far, 2020 has been full of friction of all kinds, and it doesn't appear that it is going to get much smoother in the near future. But as I move forward with the idea of harmony fully planted in my brain, I'm going to concentrate on reducing the friction within my control. 

Wishing you a harmonious start to the month of August!