On spring cleaning, Absolutely Fabulous, more VDPR, and Jane Austen
Dear friends,
How is everyone? Having a thrilling August, I hope? I’m kidding, obviously; I don’t believe I’ve ever had a thrilling August in my whole life. August is not the worst month—the worst month is usually March (you’re deep in the trenches of work, holiday vibes have completely dissipated, and it’s become clear by now that you have once again failed to follow through on your New Year’s resolution to become a better person, to get your shit together, to eat more vegetables and do your pelvic floor exercises, yeah you’re just the same as you were last year, only older, your body a little weaker, your dreams growing ever more difficult to discern in the rapidly fading light of your youth—and all the while everyone’s going around saying ‘I can’t believe it’s March already!’ as though the relentless onward rush of time should be front page news) or possibly December (the month of spending three weeks in crowded hospitality venues having shouted conversations with every single person you’ve ever met, the month of acquiring six tonnes of exquisitely wrapped landfill, the month of spending days and days cleaning your house beyond recognition and cooking an elaborate lunch for fifteen)—no, August is not the worst, but nor does she ever take out my annual Month of the Year award. October is the current reigning champion, for obvious reasons:
The obvious reasons are that last October I signed a book deal and then spent several weeks
swanning around Paris and surrounds like a fat French duke
Image description: a series of photos from France including Mont Saint Michel, a road sign for Villainville, the cliffs of Etretat, Monet's Garden, a box of macarons from Pierre Hermé, yellow flowers against a grey sky, a box of edible frozen spheres in bright colours, the river Seine, the statue of Nike at the Louvre
This week I’ve been doing some pre-spring cleaning, which so far has involved moving mountains of junk out of drawers and cupboards, piling it up in the centre of the room, and gazing at it glumly while wondering where I went wrong in my life. Apparently I now only own two kinds of objects: (a) books and (b) uncategorisable items that I never use and are difficult to store, and which for obscure sentimental reasons can never be thrown away. Honestly, why is modern life so hard? Sure, back in olden times, pre-Kmart, people may have lived under the constant threat of being eaten by bears/clubbed to death by a rival neanderthal or whatever, but imagine how easy it was to maintain a tidy, minimalist, mid-century aesthetic in a yurt with no nearby shopping centres nor any possibility of online shopping. So easy.
Television
Would you believe most of my TV time is still dedicated to getting to the end of Vanderpump Rules? It’s a bit of a chore right now as I’m up to season eight and they’ve introduced a bunch of new people whom I do not care for at all. Unlike the original cast, the new people all seem to be somewhat self-aware, like they’re trying not to come across as insane on TV. Let me tell you, after the spectacular festival of maladjusted narcissists that I’ve been treated to over the past seven seasons, it is so boring watching these new people bicker in a way that is completely hinged, with zero madness whatsoever. The only thing keeping me ploughing on is the knowledge of the mystery scandal awaiting me in season 10.
The other thing I’ve watched recently is the pilot of the iconic 1990s comedy, Absolutely Fabulous. We’re introducing it to our kids because it’s important they understand the classics (they are already familiar with Fawlty Towers, Black Books, and the less sexy episodes of Seinfeld), and also because we need to prepare them for when they are teenagers and are required to manage the household for us while my partner and I stagger around town slugging Bolly and falling into ditches while dressed in the greatest outfits known to humankind.
Image description: GIF of Patsy and Edina from Ab Fab dancing drunkenly while an unimpressed Saffy looks on
I am pleased to report that the indoctrination is already taking effect; the other night the six year old told me my cooking was ‘fabulous…absolutely fabulous’ (NB this was purely for effect; in reality she hates everything I cook and won’t eat anything other than sweets, raw vegetables or undiluted carbohydrates).
It was fun to return to Ab Fab after all these years. Patsy and Edina are total monsters, but also I love them and want to be them, and it is so refreshing to see these bad women having such a good time. I’m not sure a show like this could be made anymore—I feel like these days we usually see women depicted either as hyper competent, hard working and talented (see eg The Marvellous Mrs Maisel; The Bold Type; Minx), or messy and neurotic, and suffering for it (Girls, Fleabag). There’s something so exhilarating about the loose, the remorseless glee of Ab Fab—it’s such an antidote to the anxious age we live in, where we are all under such constant surveillance in the form of both external surveillance (security cameras, internet cookies, the vigilant ear of Alexa and Siri) and the kind of self-surveillance that is inevitable in the age of social media, where we’re constantly thinking about how what we say and do might be received and interpreted by others. The only semi-contemporary show I can think of that comes even close to the carefree hedonism of Ab Fab is Broad City, Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer’s brilliant comedy about two stoner girls mooching around New York, but even that is not quite it. Is there anything else I’ve missed?
Books
I recently listened to Jane Austen’s Persuasion, narrated by Greta Scacchi, and god, it is so good. I mean, I know that ‘Jane Austen is a genius’ is not exactly breaking news, but there were so many things in it this time around that I hadn’t noticed previously. In particular, I love how Austen depicts the ratbag children of Anne’s sister Mary—or, rather, the adult response to those children. At one point Mary writes to Anne and is like ‘[t]he holidays…are over at last: I believe no children ever had such long ones. I am sure I had not.’ So relatable! Also, the children’s grandmother complains to Anne about how spoilt they are, and says she would invite them over more often but ‘it is very bad to have children with one that one is obliged to be checking every moment…or that one can only keep in tolerable order by more cake than is good for them.’ I may have laughed a bit guiltily at this, as keeping children ‘in tolerable order’ with ‘more cake than is good for them’ was definitely my go-to parenting solution when my kids were small.
More surprisingly, Austen also anticipates twentieth century (and contemporary) ideas about knowledge and power, and the significance of storytelling as a way of claiming authority. At one point Anne is arguing with this guy about whether men or women have stronger feelings when they fall in love, and he puts it to her that ‘all histories are against you—all stories, prose and verse…I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman’s inconstancy. Songs and proverbs all talk of woman’s fickleness.’ Anne responds by pointing out that ‘[m]en have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands.’
Me, quietly committing cultural appropriation in honour of
our lord and saviour, Her Majesty Jane Austen
Image description: GIF of Ilana Glazer from Broad City looking emotional with the caption '*mouthing* YAS QUEEN!'
Anyway, the book was a total treat, so goddamn romantic—I may have wept a little when (do I need a spoiler alert for 200 year old fiction? If so: spoiler alert!) Anne gets Wentworth’s “you pierce my soul” letter near the end)—so funny and wise, and the narration was excellent. Austen’s novels all seem to be free on Audible at the moment and I am planning to binge every last motherfucking one of them.
Other things
In a fit of madness I recently ordered a loud jumpsuit on the internet in honour of a dubious fashion choice made by one of the characters in my novel—I thought it might be funny to wear something similar to my book launch. Then it arrived, and while a part of me loves it, wearing it feels a bit like dressing up in drag as a person who loves attention. Exhibit A:
How I imagine Edina Monsoon would dress for a clown funeral
I posted a shot of this on Instagram, mainly for comedy, but then heaps of people messaged me to say they loved it, and I was thinking that maybe I could do it? Maybe I could overcome my deep phobia of being physically perceived by the eyes of others and work up the courage to wear this outside the house?
Then my kids pointed out that there are two unfortunately placed green splodges on the back that make it look like I just fell backwards into a bowl of pea soup, or perhaps just have very leafy buttocks, and it was kind of a dealbreaker. So anyway, this is a longwinded way of saying that I’m going to have to let this wallow in the back of my cupboard for the next ten to fifteen years, flooding me with guilt every time I lay eyes on it send this back to the online retailer and instead furnish myself with something I’m more comfortable in, ie some sort of billowing shroud which gives no indication of a person existing within.
Until next time,
Eleanor xx
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