An Angel at my Table

An Angel at my Table L Autobiografia In Tre Volumi Di Janet Frame Stata Salutata Come Un Vero Evento Letterario L Isola Del Presente Racconta Una Infanzia E Una Adolescenza Nella Nuova Zelanda Degli Anni E , In Cui Le Vicende Familiari Sono Segnate Dalla Povert E Dal Dramma Nel Secondo Volume, Un Paese Di Fiumi , La Timida Adolescente Si Trasformata In Una Donna Dalla Acuta Sensibilit Ma, Sospettata Di Schizofrenia, Costretta A Trascorrere Otto Anni Nelle Corsie Di Un Ospedale Psichiatrico Infine La Citt Degli Specchi Racconta Come Una Scrittrice Riesca A Tagliare Il Proprio Cordone Ombelicale Con Il Passato Jane Campion Ha Tratto Da Questa Trilogia Il Film Un Angelo Alla Mia TavolaQuesta Edizione Einaudi Comprende L Intera Trilogia

The fate befalling the young woman who wanted to be a poet has been well documented Desperately unhappy because of family tragedies and finding herself trapped in the wrong vocation as a schoolteacher her only escape appeared to be in submission to society s judgement of her as abnormal She spent four and a half years out of eight years, incarcerated in mental hospitals The story of her alm

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  • Paperback
  • 580 pages
  • An Angel at my Table
  • Janet Frame
  • Italian
  • 15 August 2018
  • 9788806138141

10 thoughts on “An Angel at my Table

  1. says:

    I inhabited a territory of loneliness which I think resembles that place where the dying spend their time before death, and from where those who do return living to the world bring inevitably a unique point of view that is a nightmare, a treasure, and a lifelong possession at times I think it must be the best view in the world, ranging even farther than the view from the mountains of love, equal in its rapture and chilling exposure, there in the neighborhood of the ancient gods and goddesses. I ve mentioned Janet Frame s most in famous turning point in a previous review of her work, whereupon her winning of an important literary prize convinced the doctors that it would not, in fact, do to give her a lobotomy It will be gotten out of the way here so I need not have to speak of it again, for it is hardly the most worthwhile of tidbits to take away from this woman s life, who in nomenclature is academically Frame and personally Janet as I, after finishing this autobiography, cannot conceive of calling her by any other name but her own Nothing else evokes the brilliance on 28 August 1924 I was born, named Janet Paterson Frame, with ready made parents and a sister and a brother who had already begun their store of experience, inaccessible to me except through their language and the record, always slightly different, of our mother and our father, and as each member of the family was born, each, in a sense with memories on loan, began to supply the individual furnishings of each Was Land, each Is Land, and the hopes and dreams of the Future. She read Proust before writing this, but that was long after her childhood, burgeoning adulthood, asylumhood, long after she began living through the poets and prosecrafts as a plant stretches and strains through infrastructured sun Her mother would have published had the family not been in poverty, her father found solace in the basics of folk song and mystery, and her siblings made do through the seas of epilepsy and death, as did she before the world intruded upon her teaching in an effort to standardize It was not the profession but the professionals that got to her, a common story with uncommon means of slapdash diagnosis and excavation via publishing, all in her effort to claim a room for her own Language that had betrayed, changed, influenced, could still befriend the isolated, could help when human beings had withdrawn their help. No extrovert was she, no conqueror of career or cannibalistic society, and yet, somehow, here she is Worms, misogyny, violent seasickness, even sickening realization of her own indoctrinated racism and classism, onto the tidier peaks and pitfalls of love, people, and financial support, all of it refracted within her voice that sees the inherent unreliability of any writing as its utmost strength With a life such as hers, I don t doubt it Sitting there among the labelled, bottled brains I ventured to hope for the quality of strength and vigilance in psychiatrists, their continued examination and testing of their humanity without which they might become political operators infected with the endemic virus of psychiatry, politics, and some other professions believe in the self as God. Like most of humanity, those beliefs she had that are so often circumscribed by others as political tendencies were born from her own experiences at the hands of the system Like less than most, she went further in her analysis of perception, turning the misjudgment of others the other way round and dissecting her own assumptions founded on hearsay and public opinion Whether twas for her fiction or her effort to be if even there is or ever was a distinction between the two is impossible to say, but it made for a tone far powerful, far encompassing of the madness of truth, a madness ranging over a vaster plain of the ugly and the fair than even most writers will not willingly attest to, for better or for worse This confusing experiencestrengthened my resolution never to forget that a writer must stand on the rock of her self and her judgment or be swept away by the tide or sink in the quaking earth there must be an inviolate place where the choices and decisions, however imperfect, are the writer s own, where the decision must be as individual and solitary as birth or death What was the use of my having survived as a person if I could not maintain my own judgment New Zealand, woman, past occupant of a mental institution With every label, the list grows smaller, yet there is some fortune in her having been one of the colonizers rather than the colonized I will pay my due to the latter in due time, but for now, I am content with having found Janet she is a force who is not to be missed Not an unusual scene but, as in my visit to the pine forests of the interior, it touched the antenna reaching from childhood, just as childhood contains its own antennae originating in conception and the life of the dead and the newly begun and feeling the sensation at the nerve ending and its origin in the past among the pine trees and sky and water and light, I made this scene a replacement, a telescoping with the trained economy of memory, so that from then and in the future the memory of this scene contains the collective feeling of those past, and now when I listen to pine trees by water, in light and blue, I feel the link, the fullness of being and loving and losing and wondering, the spinning Why was the world that haunted me in childhood, the shiver of yesterday, yet I remember the pine trees of Ibiza.

  2. says:

    She was ugly She tried to kill herself Several times she mentioned her rotting teeth, implying the inferiority complex she much have developed because of it, her wild shock of curly hair which almost always elicited the suggestion from others to have it straightened, her lack of fashionable clothes At one dance party she attended no one had asked her to dance so she went home early, by herself, then pretended the next day that she had a blast the night previous.Her family was poor and she had suffered the deaths of two of her siblings Mistakenly diagnosed as schizophrenic, at that time when very little was known about mental illnesses she was born in 1924 in Dunedin, New Zealand , she spent some eight years in and out of mental institutions Earlier she had left her hometown for the city to study and become a teacher but this didn t pan out And so there she was, this poor miserable young woman physically unattractive, with rotting teeth later extracted so now with dentures , most likely with halitosis, a failure in her intended career, carrying the stigma of being a madwoman, a virgin and probably single for life.Yet she had made me adore her This is the second of her three volume autobiography I haven t read the first and the third, but this one was enough for me to see the inner beauty of this writer who, as she draws you into her pain, longings and dreams could make you whisper through the pages, as if she could hear you, no, no, no, you are not ugly You are special, truly beautiful, and you weave your words like fragrant garlands from heavenly gardens though you may have written them under the most abject conditions while you worked as a housemaid, waitress and hotel chambermaid I imagine you blushing now, Janet Frame Jean But didn t you yourself write it here, after reading one of Tolstoy s masterpieces There is a freedom born from the acknowledgement of greatness in literature, as if one gave away what one desired to keep, and in giving, there is a new space cleared for growth, an onrush of a new season beneath a secret sun Acknowledging any great work of art is like being in love one walks on air any decline, destruction, death are within, not in the beloved it is a falling in love with immortality, a freedom, a flight in paradise.

  3. says:

    Perch ho amato questo libro perch stata un emozione dalla prima all ultima parola perch mi ha ricordato l importanza di cambiare prospettiva nel guardare il mondo Il ricordo che ho di me comprende, in quel periodo, me stessa che guarda fuori e me stessa che guarda dentro di me da fuori, cercando di vedermi come mi vedevano gli altri, ma poich io ero il mio corpo e le sue funzioni perch mi ha fatto conoscere la nuova Zelanda con il suo afoso Nord e il suo freddo sud perch cos dovrebbero essere le autobiografie sincere ed abili nell estrarre i ricordi ricordi resuscitati, rivestiti di meditazione e mutamento, intatti nella loro essenza Una biografia veritiera cerca di riferire l essenza Il rinnovamento e il mutamento fanno parte del materiale narrativo perch mi ha ricordato che la passione genera passione e le mie tasche allora non sono cos vuote se ho qualcosa dentro di cos prezioso da poter lasciare alle mie figlie Ma quando nostra madre parlava del presente, illuminando con il suo sentimento di stupita contemplazione il mondo ordinario che conoscevamo, ascoltavamo incantati, avvertendone il mistero e la magia Le bastava dire di qualsiasi comunissimo oggetto Guardate, bambini, una pietra , per attribuire a quella pietra una qualit meravigliosa, come se si trattasse di un oggetto sacro Era capace di caricare ogni insetto, ogni filo d erba, ogni fiore, i pericoli e la maestosit del tempo e delle stagioni di un importanza memorabile, unita a una sorta di umilt e incertezza, che ci induceva a meditare e a cercare di arrivare al cuore delle cose Nostra madre, che amava la poesia e la lettura, che amava scrivere e recitare, ci comunicava le stesse emozioni nei confronti del mondo della parola, scritta e parlata perch crescere, vivere, misurarsi con il mondo una continua scoperta che affonda le radici nelle parole Le parole segnano dei percorsi Ricordo di avere imparato a sillabare e usare queste tre parole decidere, destinazione e osservazione, ognuna delle quali era strettamente collegata ad avventura Ero ammaliata dal loro significato e dal fatto che tutte e tre sembravano far parte della struttura di ogni racconto tutti decidevano, tutti avevano una destinazione, osservavano per decidere e definire la destinazione, e sapevano come affrontare le avventure nelle quali si imbattevano strada facendo perch questo il racconto di una vita manifesto dell A per la Letteratura perch non nasconde le debolezze e le paure perch ci sono immagini bellissime come quella della geometria del Tempo Quell anno, da filo o sentiero orizzontale che si poteva seguire o percorrere, il tempo si fece all improvviso verticale, da salire come una scala fino al cielo, con scalini o episodi che si succedevano rapidamente l uno all altro perch ha sofferto caduta e si rialzato pi volte perch non ha rinunciato al suo sogno di scrivere Piangevo tutto ci che avevo perduto la mia carriera di insegnante, il mio passato, la mia casa, dove sapevo non sarei mai potuta restare per pi di poche settimane, le mie sorelle, i miei amici, i miei denti, cio me stessa come persona Non mi era rimasto che il desiderio di essere una scrittrice, di esplorare pensieri e immagini che venivano disapprovati perch ritenuti bizzarri, e la mia ambizione, considerata sospetta, forse una forma di allucinazione perch rimasta incastrata a lunga nelle opinioni degli altri, nelle decisioni che altri avevano preso al posto suo ma riuscita a liberarsene il desiderio di essere me stessa e di non seguire le personalit che dominavano intorno a me avevo preso l abitudine di concentrare la mia attenzione su luoghi che gli altri non guardavano, di distogliere di proposito lo sguardo dal panorama principale, e riconoscevo nella signorina Farnie una persona capace di guardare altrove o, pur guardando il panorama principale, di scorgerne un aspetto inconsueto perch riconosce il fatto che non si pu scrivere un autobiografia lineare la memoria ha sbalzi dovuti agli inevitabili imprevisti e allora se prima i ricordi si accatastano come sacchi su sacchi al mulino, poi vorticano spinti da una forza sottostante, con ricordi diversi che salgono alla superficie in momenti diversi e negano cos l esistenza di un autobiografia pura confermando, per ogni momento, una storia separata che si accumula in un milione di storie, tutte diverse e con alcuni ricordi che rimangono per sempre sotto la superficie perch crescendo non si pu fare a meno di osservare i genitori con occhi diversi e J.F capace di riassumere tutto questo in un unica frase Vedevo la trama della loro vita passata emergere lentamente, come un copione scritto con l inchiostro simpatico che ora si rivelava al fuoco acceso semplicemente dalla mia crescita perch raccontare una vita condividendo momenti epici magari fantasiosi la via pi facile nell autobiografia di un una artista che vuole dare un immagine di se edificante E come se dicesse Se devo darmi in pasto voglio offrirmi dal mio lato migliore In questa autobiografia, invece si sente il duro ed ostinato lavoro su se stessa col favore della distanza temporale e della maturit perch ho ritrovato la mia adolescenza nelle stesse questioni che lei si poneva e che sono territorio comune di quell et cos incerta e fragile Che cosa potevo fare, al mondo, per guadagnarmi da vivere restando me stessa, la persona che sapevo di essere C era la possibilit di portare una maschera sul viso lo facevano tutti, era la moda degli esseri umani ma non maschere fissate sul viso al punto da impedirti di respirare e alla fine di soffocarti perch lo strazio dei suoi ricoveri frutto di grida inascoltate che la rendono un burattino della sua stessa storia personale Nessuno pens di chiedermi perch avessi gridato contro mia madre, nessuno mi chiese quali fossero i miei progetti per il futuro Diventai immediatamente una terza persona, o piuttosto priva di persona, come nella nota ufficiale sulla visita di mia madre riferitami molti anni dopo Si rifiuta di lasciare l ospedale perch l esperienza del manicomio, la tortura degli innumerevoli elettroshock pare pi di duecento , il pericolo sfiorato di essere lobotomizzata mi hanno costantemente ricordato Alda Merini e, nonostante le importanti differenze, affiora questo contatto con la dimensione della follia e il rifugio nella Poesia Prendevo sul serio la mia nuova condizione Se il mondo dei pazzi era il mondo al quale ormai appartenevo ufficialmente malattia incurabile, senza speranza , me ne sarei servita per sopravvivere, vi avrei primeggiato Sentivo che questo non mi avrebbe impedito di essere una poetessa perch ci ricorda che tra le tante etichette che il consorzio umano usa appiccicare c quella della Pazzia che pare sia dotata di un potente mastice Ero caduta non so come in un crepaccio del tempo e molti di questi sentimenti derivavano dal fatto di non essere in contatto con nessuno, e di non avere nessuno con cui poter veramente parlare Ero la solita Janet sorridente, sorridente, che metteva in mostra la nuova dentiera ingombrante, e che parlava di questo o quell argomento quotidiano Scrivevo le mie poesie, senza mostrarle a nessuno Un membro della mia famiglia aveva trovato e letto un racconto che avevo scritto esprimendo la ferma opinione che non sarei mai stata una scrittrice Qualche volta, quando cominciavo a dire quello che provavo realmente, servendomi di una similitudine o di una metafora, di un immagine, scorgevo l imbarazzo negli occhi dei miei interlocutori ecco la pazza che parlava perch dopo Gridano i gufi ora voglio leggere tutto ci che stato tradotto a partire da Dentro il muro dove si parla esplicitamente della drammatica esperienza psichiatrica perch questa lettura intesse tantissimi fili letterari non potrebbe essere altrimenti perch la Letteratura stessa stata la trama della sua vita Come Pollicino raccolgo briciole ma a differenza sua io le conserver gelosamente Nomi di scrittrici e scrittori, titoli di opere che non posso ignorare, da leggere e o rileggere Olive Emilie Albertina Schreiner, William Shakespeare ed in particolare Misura per misura , La ballata del vecchio marinaio, Kubla Khan di Coleridge, Keats, Elliot, Whitman, Yeats perch , anche se non scrivo, questo libro contiene e delle affermazioni bellissime e profonde sull esperienza della scrittura e che, giocoforza, diventano preziose anche per chi ha la passione del leggere Mettere gi tutto cos come accade non narrativa deve esserci il viaggio, fatto da soli, il cambiamento della luce concentrata sul materiale, la disponibilit dello stesso autore a vivere in quella luce, in quella citt di riflessi governata da leggi, materiali e moneta diversi Scrivere un romanzo non soltanto andare a fare acquisti oltre frontiera in una terra irreale sono ore e anni passati nelle fabbriche, nelle strade, nelle cattedrali dell immaginazione per apprendere il funzionamento speciale della Citt degli Specchi perch ho letto anche questo Conservammo La morte di Ivan Il ic come ultima lettura Frank si scandalizz quando seppe che non lo avevo mai letto Il grande classico , lo chiamava.Mi portai il libretto blu con il segnalibro di seta al capanno per leggerlo, e la sera dopo parlammo di Ivan Il ic e della morte.Dal riconoscimento della grandezza letteraria nasce una particolare libert , come se si cedesse qualcosa che si desiderava tenere e, cedendolo, si liberasse un nuovo spazio per la crescita, l esplodere di una nuova stagione sotto un sole segreto Riconoscere una grande opera d arte come essere innamorati non si cammina, si vola ogni decadenza, morte, distruzione dentro di noi, non nell amato come innamorarsi dell immortalit , una liberazione, un volo in paradiso perch quando J.F descrive cos la sua prima lettura di Faulkner Ruotando ruotando, turbinando, dove mi trovo Potrei descrivere cos ci che provai nel leggere la prima pagina di William Faulkner Andai avanti, lessi fino in fondo e quando ebbi finito il libro turbinavo ancora in un gorgo di parole ed emozioni che mi colpivano come una musica potente il cui significato viene raramente messo in discussione Dovevo scrivere una recensione come avrei potuto recensire un romanziere che offuscava di sensazioni la mia visione Ripresi in mano il libro, rileggendolo pi e pi volte, emergendo lentamente nella limpida cascata di luce nella quale i personaggi, la scena, il significato apparivano nitidamente delineati, solidi, veri, buoni Era questo il mondo di William Faulkner, e ora che lo avevo trovato non lo avrei mai pi perduto perch J F lascia la Nuova Zelanda per sette anni e l esperienza tra l Inghilterra e la Spagna non uno sterile viaggiare ma un percorso di crescita come Donna e come Scrittrice Abbandona gli abiti del pregiudizio e vive il confronto con le altre culture come arricchimento Ed eccomi qui, in viaggio oltremare per ampliare la mia esperienza e subire il cambiamento imposto a ogni nuovo viaggiatore attraverso l esame non del luogo di arrivo ma di quello di partenza perch scrive Il ricordo diventa scena solo fino a quando il passato non neppure ieri, una serie di immagini trattenute che vengono rilasciate a casaccio perch in Spagna mentre scrive, guarda dalla finestra e vede la citt riflessa nel mare La citt vera da allora diventa per lei quel riflesso che chiamer la Citt degli Specchi l immaginazione che deve abitare ogni artista, non solo come rifugio ma come detentore della propria forza creativa.Chiedo scusa Troppe parole, troppe citazioni non rendono leggibile un commento ma non ho potuto farne a meno

  4. says:

    Temporary masks, I knew, had their place everyone was wearing them, they were the human rage but not masks cemented in place until the wearer could not breathe and was eventually suffocated.She looked how everyone saw her Sometime after reading Janet Frame s first autobiography To the Is Land late 2012 I watched some of the 1990s film adaptation by Jane Campion I stopped watching it into the part from An Angel at my Table Janet, Jean to her family, looked like everyone saw her I couldn t hear the inside of her head The inside humming couldn t be hummed by me as she looks like she doesn t want you to notice her, just in case she isn t looking how she is supposed to look If there is anything I missed the most about Frame it was that she talked to her reader as if they were an invisible friend I hoped she wouldn t look at me here because I have had the horrible feeling that none of it would have happened to her if she had been pretty She looked like Janet Frame with the shock of red hair, a love me smile, forgive me fading smile The music bothered me It felt quaint and it narrated outside of the body New Zealand, sheep and sweaters It wasn t like when you have a good song that lasts long enough inside of your head The good This could be the soundtrack to my life head music feeling You don t wear a forgive smile if you feel like this, while it lasts It was cutesy and this is a movie about the past The outside kind of ugly little girl, missing the inside oozing center of hope because you hug yourself when you hate your ugly self The Janet that pretends she doesn t need to eat much because she likes the idea of herself as not a bother and then later sneaks chocolate into her room all the days because she can t admit that she actually has a pretty big appetite The Janet that would look greedy thinking longingly of the chocolate bars later in her room She s in the world that feels hungry and wants Janet to be the quiet girl who doesn t need anything to eat When she fills in the end of her teaching college autobiography paper about her suicide attempt She hated school and teaching eats her half alive It isn t wrong when she is the Janet that looks as if she doesn t know what is going to happen to her when she boasts to the inquisitive professor that the aspirin went down easily with water I know from elsewhere not from the book or the film that the first three weeks turn into eight years of mental hospitals She wanted to impress the doctors She must have looked like something that didn t fit and they had some place to send people who didn t fit I know she must have looked like someone you d want to shake to not be so pathetic and please shut your mouth Don t tell these doctors anything that would make them think you belong in the looney bin Frame writes about her long and open letters to the doctor about her apparently schizophrenic symptoms of masturbation I hear the outside voice in the book that knows she stopped writing to him when he gets married because she felt left out and must now know it was a sickening trap all along If you saw her she d just look silly Would he look lofty, safe with a degree Not to me, not in any world.There s a moment between hospital stays when the film Janet looks exactly like Janet must have looked when she tells her sister she is going to be a writer There s a hopeful look pinned to her chest It is a badge and it is a secret wish Janet Frame sounds like this a lot in An Angel at my Table Writing saved her life If she had not won a literary prize a new doctor from Scotland would not have thought to save her from the scheduled lobotomy Stories were her life, a place to fit She looks like a pompous idiot, like a little girl who dreams of rainbows and princes in the uninteresting Barbie doll variety She probably talked about writing than she actually did any writing most days some days she types a meaningless sentence over and over to appear as if she is writing She looks like the person who it is everything to and where did it take her I know from her other books It was beautiful, there, and I saw her.I don t like the film Janet Frame because she is someone I would have pity for in the outside world I like her, yet I want her to get a backbone because I m drowning some days too I would have to give her the dignity on my own if I saw her in the hospital to have her teeth removed I know that Janet is terrified of the dentist If I see her I don t forget that her teeth hurt because I can see them if she ever smiles I can see them if she is afraid to smile I feel the reason for the smile, bad teeth be damned, in her words There s a Janet Frame in her words that I missed desperately when watching her The inner voice that stepped outside when she is ridiculous and face covered with chocolate I d love her anyway but this way she gets to love herself That s better and worth than coming from me because it is so hard to make that all of the time The slight humorous twist to the smile that could be rueful when she is also conscious of how she must look to everyone else I want that Janet Frame Because you can t get that part of another person any other way An Angel at my Table didn t have that Janet Frame I was a jerk and was mad at the film for what the book didn t have Frame sells her self esteem up the purple river of flowers She acknowledges the loss of an I from her time in the asylums Whenever she holds onto a rejection for her writing, or a successful publication of a poem What I felt was the loss of her self esteem This writer guy says this, don t write this, read this The other waitresses say wear this makeup, this dress It is so painful to read this I see the Janet Frame that her family doesn t know what to do with They look like this is a crazy person She writes about the relief when she pretends that it was a child s vacation I know what she is doing and I miss so much when she gave herself something else in her fiction Faces in the Water and Owls Do Cry I really miss it I experienced a feeling of nowhereness and nothingness as if I had never existed, or, if I had, I was now erased from the earth I had somehow fallen into a crevice in time and many of these feelings were a result of my being in touch with no one, and of having no one to talk to from within I was my usual smiling self, smiling, flashing my bulky new false teeth, and talking about this and that and daily matters I wrote my poems, showing them to no one A member of my family had found and read a story I wrote and voiced the strong opinion that I would never be a writer Sometimes when I began to say what I really felt, using a simile or metaphor, an image, I saw the embarrassment in my listener s eyes here was the mad person speaking There s a third part of the autobiography The Envoy from the Mirror City I have a bad feeling it is called this like when she sends a poem about mirrors and fractured images in response to a hospital doctor have they refuse financial assistance when she is released The imagery chosen for its associations with schizophrenics I m afraid to read it if she is who they see her as and not as herself In the end of part two she is following behind others, still afraid of her own voice It kills me When she writes about how other writers don t have to prove that their fiction isn t autobiographical with the absence of lobotomy scars I wanted to tell her that that wasn t the worst that they did to her It is when she says in the beginning of the book that she admires the little worlds the other patients built for themselves in the rules It is that she is afraid of ever getting out of them with anyone, not that people look at her like she is crazy It isn t that she doesn t open her mouth for herself it is that she doesn t miss that she doesn t I have a feeling that the fictional heroine of Faces in the Water who stands up to the nurses is where Frame got to be brave If you are so afraid of what other people look like when they are looking at you that you cannot make an expression That s what Janet Frame looks like in An Angel at My Table I don t like that look at all It breaks my heart What I loved about her so much in Faces in the Water is that she gave to other people by wanting to see something good when she looked at them, not the worst It felt like she was giving that to herself too by doing that That s why so much of this book is about being a writer The identity part of being a writer was too damned important I didn t like that about this book at all Because being a writer was what she thought would make her look good to someone else I still haven t finished watching the film I want to have an intimate inner voice talking to me I don t want to feel lonely watching someone else being lonely and it is up to me to be good and just know that there s something real and better to it I have to, though I m not good enough today.

  5. says:

    So.Is it blasphemy to say that I prefer her nonfiction to her fiction Her fiction was dense, poetic, experimental all of which I fully appreciate.Her autobiography is just her truth, which I absolutely love This resonated so much with me It s one of those books that says exactly what I would want to say to the world if I d had the presence of mind to say it first.She was diagnosed with schizophrenia but wasn t schizophrenic She was autistic if ever a woman was.So If you d like to hear a literary genius describe what that s like, what it s really like, I recommend this series.I also love and recommend the film of the same name.

  6. says:

    Libro diviso in tre parti, originariamente tre volumi poi riuniti in un unico grande libro Da lettore si inizia con l innocenza di un bambino e si cresce accompagnati dall autrice in un mondo sconosciuto, quasi fiabesco.Le tre parti del libro sono molto diverse fra loro, l infanzia, la maturit e la rinascita al mondo di una donna che stupisce per il suo approccio alla vita.Un infazia serena, seppur vissuta nell estrema povert , una curiosit vivace e una voglia di apprendere, di soffermarsi maniacalmente su parole nuove e sconosciute la accompagnano nei primi anni della sua formazione Tutto questo contribuisce a creare intorno a lei un aura di stranezza, l aspetto poi non aiuta l integrazione fra i suoi coetanei, capelli incolti e crespi, abbigliamento in pessimo stato e denti marci, segni distintivi che non l abbandoneranno mai.Arrivano poi lutti a dir poco profetici e una errata diagnosi medica che ne marchieranno il corso dell esistenza condannandola ad essere una schizofrenica immaginaria, sana di mente ma costretta a vivere circondata dai pazzi per otto anni della sua vita subendo circa duecento trattamenti di elettro shock Stupisce il suo narrare con disarmante pacatezza, senza mai dimostrare rabbia o rancore verso chi le ha rovinato la vita, il suo accettare tutto come parte integrante di s , la povert , l emarginazione, la malattia.Una malattia diagnosticata con leggerezza, dove schizofrenica una ragazza timida e intelligente con una schiettezza al di sopra della norma, una novit che fa gridare allo strano, al pazzo.E lei, remissiva e fatalista accetta tutto, accetta la diagnosi, accetta i vari ricoveri volontari che la costringono ad una vita sottomessa e mai indipendente, che la privano della libert di scegliere un lavoro, un luogo da chiamare casa Il condizionamento tale che, trovandosi senza altra scelta, pi di una volta sceglie il ricovero volontario come semplice via di fuga, come unico modo per trovare un posto tranquillo dove stare.La svolta arriva grazie a Frank Sargeson, uno scrittore, un uomo che lei definisce un apprendista di fantasmi in un mondo di distanze le offre rifugio in un piccolo chalet all interno della sua propriet Insieme condividono un bellissimo anno bohemien con tempo a sufficienza per esprimere se stessa, vivere e scrivere in assoluta libert Mesi preziosi che le consentono di incontrare altri artisti, rafforzarsi emotivamente e trovare la forza e il coraggio per spiccare il volo e abbandonare la Nuova Zelanda per la Spagna e infine per l Inghiltarra Da donna asessuata, come lei stessa si definisce, la Spagna le riveler che anche questo suo giudizio era errato, scoprir cos di poter stringere legami affettivi con gli uomini, scoprir cosa vuol dire essere viva e libera di scegliere e sbagliare L inghilterra invece le doner finalmente la libert mentale, dopo l ultimo ricovero volontario il fardello della schizofrenia le verr definitivamente tolto lasciandola spoglia, nuda e indifesa di fronte al suo unico difetto, se difetto si pu definire, la sua estrema timidezza Non come Van Gogh o Mozart, niente genio e follia ma soltanto una comune donna con un particolare talento per la scrittura che sceglie e accetta una vita solitaria e emarginata al limite dell asocialit in un periodo in cui la normalit trovare marito e mettere al mondo figli.Qusta biografia, nata su consiglio del medico che la seguiva pi come tentativo di sfogo che come vera opera letteraia, come mezzo per raccontare a qualcuno la sua storia, un qualcuno che non l abbandoni a met percorso, come molti suoi medici hanno fatto, si rivela poi un libro bellissimo, di struggente sensibilit e commovente realt storica, ricco di citazioni letterarie, di autori, libri e persone che hanno accompagnato il corso della sua vita L unico motivo per continuare questa autobiografia che, per quanto abbia usato, inventato, mescolato, rimodellato, cambiato, aggiunto, sottratto da tutte le mie esperienze, non ho mai scritto direttamente della mia vita e dei miei sentimenti Senza dubbio mi sono mescolata ad altri personaggi che sono a loro volta il prodotto del noto e dell ignoto, del reale e dell immaginario ho creato esseri , ma non ho mai scritto del mio essere.

  7. says:

    I confess that I came to this book only after seeing Jane Campion s brilliant film adaptation of Janet Frame s autobiographies And, despite telling essentially the same story, the book and the film feel like wildly different things That s the nature of an adaptation, of course and I m not suggesting that Campion is somehow less faithful to her source material than other directors might be It s just that Campion s film is perhaps masterful, finely crafted Which does not take anything at all away from Frame She s up to other things here Great things She is taking shadows and echoes and demons and turning them into something else, something bright and nourishing and warm This book isn t a page turner It isn t for everyone But, if you re a writer, it s well worth your while And then some.

  8. says:

    Equal reading event of 2018 for me, along with a Gerald Murnane bender early in the year, though I d be hard pressed to say why For one thing my wife joined in the reading, at first following and later eclipsing me while I took a short detour through a library book that was soon due She loved it, though partly because, as she kept saying, Frame reminded her of me And it s true Frame seemed familiar, but like a sister than an alternate self I left her Frame just as she arrived in London, had her first date aged early thirties with someone she met on a bus, and spent a night at a writers commune, whose inhabitants were impressed she had a book out, even if as she assured them it was only published in New Zealand I think I had to read that far, just to make sure she d be all right And when I picked it up again it was pleasure, sweet relief She makes it to Ibiza, has a lover, keeps on publishing Her newfound independence is tangible it grows and grows And strange to say, I envied her, after all she d been through I envied her self reliance her self centredness her certainty of what she should, could and must do It s a hard thing, I guess, to describe the writing life Hard to make clear what s at stake But Frame excels at it And somewhere half or two thirds of the way through this epic I realised it s about stubbornness, sheer force of will If eight years in mental hospitals and 200 ECT treatments was the only way to break free from the expectations of family and society, so be it And the remarkable thing there is no bitterness Or maybe a little, in her criticism of her New Zealand mental health care though not than a handful of times in those eight years did a doctor talk directly to her, once the spurious label schizophrenic was affixed it spoke for itself , but overall her gratitude to the good and kind doctors in her life wins out Seven of her novels were dedicated to a psychiatrist in England who encouraged her to write, who obtained for her a National Insurance stipend so that she could do so in peace, and her voluntary hospitalisation in London was the opposite of her New Zealand experience a reversal, a chance to set the record straight I understand upon her eventual return to New Zealand Frame battled to keep her own story ie as it appeared in the press, in the work of critics from overwhelming her fiction The fact is, that story is one of the all time great artist s stories of overcoming odds, of coming from out of nowhere, of doing exactly what deep down she knew she must do But no one could tell it like she does It seems so effortless it must have been anything but One of the wonders of the world, Patrick White called it I can see what he means.

  9. says:

    Extra ordinary life and writing style She goes from a very realistic and straight on language to the most poetic descibtions of ordinary thing that I have ever read Some strophes needs to be read twice or trice to even comprehend and absorb A book to read for all

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