(no date) Hail to thee, blithe spirit!
Bird thou never wert, I’m sure; but good egg definitely.
Thank you so much for sending me the two books by Alan Garner.
Needless to say, I’ve already finished them both and can
well understand why you find him so fascinating. There is none
of the high-flown language that makes many fantasy stories so
annoying... the youngsters (though I agree these are not specifically ‘kids’ books
any more than, say, Huckleberry Finn is a kids’ book) ...
as I was about to say, they are believable as persons... so are
the adults for that matter.
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They do intrigue one, and make one wish
the story could have gone on longer... though I suppose some of
the haunting quality of it is simply that it doesn’t go
on but leaves one wondering, ‘What happened after that?’ Incidentally,
I have a young friend Steve Desjardin (son of her of the obfuscative
lens) who refuses to eat birds (e.g. chicken, turkey, stuffed
pheasant under glass, Peking duck, et al) or fish... I think
that is significant.
He is probably one of those owl types, or perhaps a reincarnated
merman who was in love with a swan at one time. There could
be no other reason why he would refuse to live on a diet of
tea,
fresh bread, and Swedish pastry like any normal , healthy human
being,
with an occasional breast of guinea hen thrown in.
You will be
sorry to know that Alfred, the Senior Cat in Charge, has a
sore tail. He doesn’t have Steve’s inhibitions
and has had a sumptuous dinner of chicken livers to comfort him
in his affliction.
It is a pity you were not here last evening, when I essayed
to give a cocktail party for a group of neighbors. Among other
things, one of the guests, our friendly neighborhood obstetrician,
decided to park his car on the side of the road up by the paddock,
little wotting that what he took to be roadside was three feet
of slush with deep gully underneath. There was much charging
back and forth with flashlights, shovels, well-meant advice,
and at last some sturdy planks which once separated a couple
of horse stalls. Sometime when activity in the slushpile was
at its height, a car bombing down the Concord Road hit, as they
often do, a utility pole, thus throwing the area into darkness.
We
finished the party by candlelight (the guests themselves were
perchance a trifle lit up by then anyway *)
*Only the men, of course- the ladies remained ladies, needless to say.
... the doctor got out of the gully by means of the planks... and all ended on a, as one might say, high note. Oh yes, nobody had a baby... rather a pity as it would have heightened the dramatic effect. Thus do we pass our quiet Saturday evenings in staid old Sudbury.
I have not thanked you for that terse and un-loquacious valentine... therefore, thanks! It was, in fact, highly amusing and most welcome. Re your letter... likewise, I’m sure... for the Penny child, there can be only one appropriate name and I’m sure they must have thought of it for themselves, so please give little Jaycee my regards and best wishes.
Re the television commercial... what fun... and how thoughtful of you to give
Wrack and Rune top billing. Sorry about Diana Rigg but perhaps she will realize
what she’s missed and get back in the script. In the meantime, say aloha
to Jeff et al. Or whatever seems appropriate.... perhaps a simple ‘hiya’ would
do. How elegant that they are doing commercials now. I hope it’s because
they are making so much money on the works of C. M. MacShakespeare but it probably
isn’t.
Molly is comforting Alfred, or perhaps commiserating with him on the fact that there are no more chicken livers. Anyway, he is resting comfortably, clasped in her loving paws.
How nice that you found P.D. James. This is said with a somewhat affronted sniff. Not that I’m jealous or anything you understand... perish the thought! Far be it from ME to begrudge her a modicum of praise. Just don’t overdo it, that’s all! I shall wait with bated breath and gnawed fingernails for your critique of The Bilbao Looking Glass (If I seem a little unnerved, pay no attention).
There are subterranean rumblings... that means Doug Radle **
** another son of another neighbor
is coming to visit his Mustang. This is another long story which perhaps I will tell you sometime. ***
*** It is very dull
I have been paid for the latest Peter Shandy and am glad you, too, have been paid for your dragons. There is a lot to be said for solvency.
No, I have not finished the sequel to the G & Sers... It is shelved for the nonce because Uncle Jem has broken his hip and the Great Chain of Comrades of the Convivial Codfish has been stolen and a number of terrible things are happening which require my immediate attention, not to mention Max Bittersohn’s. And all this just when the board of trustees of the Goodnow Library are having an all-out fight with the Finance Committee, which will culminate in a battle to demise on the floor of the Town Hall, assuming enough of our public-spirited townsfolk show up for a quoarum.
Doug got the Mustang started and I am being asphyxiated with carbon monoxide gas, so I’ll contact you by ouija board as soon as the necessary arrangements can be made.
With greetings from the Astral Plane,
Eusapia Palladino
PS. It is interesting that in your sculptures, you make the Jupiter (index) finger longer than the Saturn (middle) finger. Your kingly nature asserting itself, no doubt.
PPS. I do not want to go to the Bahamas. All my relatives are going. I am going to put on my purple velvet toque with artificial violets and go out to Boston Common and swat at the pigeons with my umbrella.
PPSS. After much thought and research, I’ve decided your name should be pronounced Gootke- with the vowel pronounced as in book or look or as in the German pronunciation of Butter or Mutter. Anglicizing such words does seem to result in a shortening of the U to get butter or mutter (or mother- the Eng. Translation of Mutter, which also takes a short U sound). Unless it once hand an Umlaut, in which case it would be pronounced like a long U combined with an E and blown through pursed lips- this is not easy to do as we don’t have any such sound in English- which is perhaps a good thing. Maybe there is a worn and faded Umlaut packed away in an old trunk back at the family Schloss- you might inquire on your next Christmas card. There would be a plot for a fantasy- Childe Robert’s Quest for his Hereditary Umlaut. Only this is REAL and SERIOUS BUSINESS, by gad! As in fact are all fantasies.
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