instagram pinterest linkedin facebook twitter goodreads facebook circle twitter circle linkedin circle instagram circle goodreads circle pinterest circle

Florence in Words

Dorothy Sayers, Part Two

So here I am weeks later wondering why I decided to write a blog about Dorothy Sayers in the first place. I think it was the revelation in the biography I happened to find on my bookshelf among the eleven novels: that Sayers had had a child out of wedlock whom she gave to her cousin to rear, without telling her about its parentage. Indeed, the son died without knowing his father. Anyone who has read my memoir will understand my interest, no, my fascination with anyone who could bear a child and then bear to deny motherhood for the child and for herself. As it happened, the young man—we hear from in the volume—seems to have grown into a sensible person, able to understand Sayers’ dilemmas and forgive her.  Read More 
Be the first to comment

Depression and Immobility

As I made my bed this morning, I thought, how easy it is to smooth out the wrinkles, line up the pillows, pull up the quilt. It takes only less than a minute, and yet, some mornings I avoid the ritual. Is it a sign of health to make my bed or to ignore it? Or is the question irrelevant? Am I searching for meaning in a world that seems purposeless? Or if the world is not purposeless in general, still, I can find no purpose in it for myself. Yes, my friends tell me this is simply the aftermath of finishing a huge project. The slough of despond—does anyone remember that expression?—will soon depart and I will be engaged in a new project, feeling hopeful again. Read More 
2 Comments
Post a comment