A Certain Slant of Light

What I’ve Just Finished Reading

Maud Hart Lovelace’s Winona’s Pony Cart, which is the last of her Deep Valley books - the end of an era! But this is a very good book to end an era on. Young Winona is turning eight (and the book seems to be written for children at about that level), and she desperately wants a pony. So desperately that as the book begins, she’s been attempting to ride the birdbath as a pony-replacement.

It doesn’t have quite enough pony in it to count as a horse book, but I think it would be fun for fans of horse books nonetheless.

I also finally finished reading Alfred Habegger’s Emily Dickinson biography, which suffered quite a bit from the fact that her life gets really boring after about thirty-five. Someone could probably write a good novel about Emily Dickinson’s rich inner life in her later years, after she stopped leaving her house - or alternatively a good but terribly sad novel about her inner torment - but a biographer is stuck with the facts.

And the facts are that not much happened to her, and her record of her thoughts and feelings (her poems and letters) are so oblique and elusive that it’s hard to get much of a narrative out of them either.

Also I think Habegger gives short shrift to her relationships with women - shouldn’t her sister Vinnie be a bigger presence, for instance? And I shouldn’t have been surprised to discover that Dickinson’s mother was still alive when her father died.

What I’m Reading Now

DID YOU KNOW BILL BRYSON HAS A NEW BOOK OUT? It’s The Road to Little Dribbling: Adventures of an American in Britain, and it is - well, I think Bryson has become cranky in his old age (crankier, perhaps? He’s always been cranky), and it probably could have used better editing - I’m only on Chapter 7 and I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s called a view “splendid” - but parts of it are still very, very funny.

I also started reading Charlotte Bronte’s Shirley on my Kindle. I am ten percent of the way through the book and Shirley has not appeared yet.

What I Plan to Read Next

It seems there’s a new Benjamin January book out! So clearly I need to read that.

I've been reading Alfred Habegger's My Wars Are Laid Away in Books: The Life of Emily Dickinson, and you guys, it's kind of a hoot. You don't really expect an academic biography to be snarky, and it's not like Habegger is snarking all over the place, but - and I think he's taking some inspiration from Dickinson herself here, because she could certainly be snarky in her nineteenth-century way - he certainly has his moments.

In particular, you can practically hear him rolling his eyes when he argues with one of Dickinson's previous biographers, whose interpretation of Dickinson's life seems to have been "poor little match girl." Unfortunately for this biographer, Emily Dickinson had probably the least traumatic childhood of anyone in the entirety of 19th century America. None of her siblings died, neither of her parents died, she didn't start working a factory or the farm fields at a tender age (she doesn't even seem to have done much housework), nobody she loved was sold into slavery, she wasn't sold into slavery, the Civil War isn't even going to happen for another decade or two.

So far the most upsetting thing that has happened to her - she's about seventeen now - is that a couple of neighbors died, prompting some extended grim musings on death and immortality and eternity and isn't the idea of eternity almost as frightening as the idea of just dying and parting from everything forever?

The book is a library book so I did not actually write "Twinsies!" in the margin when Emily started on this vein, but this is pretty much exactly what I did when my grandfather died when I was eight, so I was totally thinking it.

Other terrible habits I share with Emily Dickinson: attempting to keep in touch with people long after it would have become clear to literally anyone else in the universe that they have no interest in keeping in touch, and are in fact probably groaning at the sight of each new letter/text message. My God! Won't she just give up already?

I also read probably a few too many of those "move heaven and earth to keep in contact with your depressed friends or you are a HORRIBLE PERSON" articles (they rarely spell it out so bluntly, but that was the general subtext), which convinced me that if anyone drifted out of contact it was a clear sign that they were also drifting aimless and alone upon the bitter seas of despondency. Obviously utter despair is the only reason why anyone would ever reject the precious jewel of my friendship.

BUT IN FACT it turns out that the reason why people write these articles it that nine times out of ten when people drift out of contact, it is in fact because they don't want to be in contact. Most people realize this, and that is why they (erroneously but understandably) believe their depressed friends don't want to be contacted either. This is why these articles don't come with "But actually there are lots of reasons why your friends might gradually stop responding to you, so don't assume on that basis alone that they're depressed" disclaimers.

1. You were good friends once but they've drifted away. They went somewhere else and have new friends now. It happens.

2. As far as they're concerned, you were only friends because circumstance threw you together and frankly they're a little weirded out that you tried to keep in touch after those circumstances ended.

3. They are a terrible correspondent. They are bad at text messages, letters, Facebook, email, telephone calls, snapchats, and God knows what else. If smoke signals and passenger pigeons were still in vogue, they would be bad at that too. You could be their very best friend in all the world and they wouldn't keep in touch.

4. They're busy. Usually this is a polite social fiction, and the people who swear up and down they're too busy to keep in touch are actually spending at least eight hours a week binge-watching Doctor Who on Netflix, but occasionally you have a friend who is, say, doing a medical residency. Those people? They're actually too busy.

5. Or maybe they are totally depressed - and they still don't want to hear from you. They never liked you that much in the first place and in their current state you're totally intolerable. Ugh, her again? Why can't any of my good friends ever contact me? Cue extended musing about how clearly all the friends they actually liked probably never liked them at all, which is yet more proof that they are unworthy, unworthy! of those fine people, and that is why only their second-rate friends still text.

6. In general, unless someone actually says "I am depressed/terminally ill with cancer/incredibly busy with my new baby/otherwise have a really good excuse for being a shitty correspondent, but nonetheless I really appreciate you keeping in contact with me," there is every likelihood that in fact they do not appreciate it. Your letters are collecting dust on their windowsill.

I realize that this sounds melodramatic, but I've had two friends eventually admit that they had stopped reading my letters. They clearly hoped that I would eventually stop writing of my own accord, but no, I persisted in putting them in this embarrassing position by sending them more letters.

Basically, when people stop responding, 90% of the time that is their way of politely signalling their disinterest. No one wants to have to say, "Actually I have no interest in keeping in touch," so people just try to quietly fade out. Let them.

It has taken me the better part of ten years to figure this out. On the bright side, Emily Dickinson doesn't seem to have worked it out ever, so I guess it could be worse.

ETA: Every time I post about this, I get long, defensive comments from people who know they're terrible at keeping in touch and feel guilty about it, but nonetheless have no intention of even trying to do better. This is 100% the wrong place to look for sympathy or validation for that position. If you're even thinking about leaving a comment like that, go text one of your neglected friends instead.