Review of Shelley Buck’s new memoir: India Bound

 

There are places that move through time so much faster than anywhere else.  A large part of the world straggles behind, striving to catch up with the latest technology, fashion, trend, conviction.  Other places instead move ponderously slowly, and even seem to go backwards.  Though they may often be remote or rural areas isolated by bad weather, poor roads, or dearth of communication lines – sometimes they are hidden within your own bustling neighborhood – a shop, diner, or street,  that seems to be stuck in another era, while rubbing shoulders with the contemporary.

Sometimes traveling, you come across pockets of the archaic out of which surface customs older than the hills, modes of thought and behavior that make no sense today– even influences and forces invisible to the modern eye  yet which shaped the beliefs of entire cultures and epochs.  Once you have been in contact with those atmospheres, you can never quite be the same, for you now know that what we call reality is a shifting fabric of conflicting truths.

It was to such places Shelley Buck travels in her new memoir  India Bound, the Making of a Woman  Journalist.  

The book opens in Northern Europe where the author has gone to recuperate from her overland trek  to India and Nepal, recounted in East.  Adrift and in transition, still reeling from the whirlwind of her Eastern experiences, she isn’t yet ready to return stateside to the world of work, study, family, career or to the political ferment shaking up America in the early 70s.  Her old self has sloughed off but a new one hasn’t quite grown back.  Wandering from West Berlin to Stockholm, sampling the lifestyles  — austere but progressive Germany – purist, nature-loving Sweden, she compares their values with those of her own middle class background of comfort and privilege. After hanging out on the hippy fringes, she  lands a job  teaching English composition on a US army base and spends her free time in a darkroom,  pulling prints of her travels, mainly portraits of the people she met.  As timeless eyes stare back at her across a gulf of centuries, she realizes she must return to India with a new goal:  to become a journalist.  She must learn how to make sense of the pieces—the impressions– she has picked up along the way, fit them against a background of greater understanding.  “Who had been the watcher, the I of those adventures? “ she asks. The only way to find out is to make the trip again.

Now that she knows the ropes and the route of the old Silk Road, she sets out again with a friend. This time, along with camera equipment, she lugs along an Olivetti portable typewriter in her backpack –  and a letter from a contact in the US asking her to do some research on day care in Asia. The typewriter and letter are talismans, proof that she isn’t just another hippy tourist, but a journalist on a mission.

As she trundles from Goa to Bombay with newly found friends in a battered VW camper or journeys in a purdah train compartment on her way to Delhi, she snaps photos, scribbles notes, keeps her eyes wide open.  The short chapters are vignettes of the small epiphanies of travel –  minimal encounters which convey telling details about a person, a place, or a people at an unrepeatable moment in time, “images of ordinary people’s ordinary lives.” Shared meals in welcoming households,  puddles of red  splashed at the Holi festival, an emaciated boy dead in the street, an exchange of clothing at a market – her old Swedish wool sweater for a gaudy, gauzy tie-dye skirt and a blouse with pointy breasts.  An elfin woman herding geese  gestures to ask: has she a husband, a baby?  “These are images of my companions now, the people of my world, met face to face.”  These moments of connection to local people flash against a turbulent backdrop of political unrest and growing famine about to engulf India.

As in her previous book reviewed here, Buck is keenly aware of the status of women in the countries she visits.  With sympathy she observes a teenage bride dressed in gold finery, furious about her fate but powerless to escape in impossible sandals.  Or a young mother whose Madonna-like face is full of tenderness for her child and yet also full of wistfulness for the freedom and opportunity she will never experience, unlike the young western women she hosts at her home.

When money becomes scarce and a check sent by the author’s parents is stolen at a Bombay bank, she finds herself dispossessed and disenfranchised:   “Halfway swallowed into the women’s world,”  and “starved, ill, frightened by the non-arriving money, battered by the famine, the street life, the precursors to the emergency that will be declared by Indira Gandhi for a reason I can’t clearly understand.”   Still even in impecunious circumstances, the presence of a camera dangling around her neck gives her an identity, a mask of authority needed to safely navigate the world.

Learning that a Swedish friend is in India, enjoying “an unrecognizable, unattainable freedom,” she comments,  “he has been climbing in the Himalayas…where the gurus live, with an Indian friend, also male.  Viktor has made an entirely different journey, a journey in a man’s India, it seems to me just now.” A man’s India of physical and spiritual adventures, not subject to gender-bound restrictions, which she has subtly noted all along the way during her journey into woman’s India.  But even while teaching in Germany, there had been an episode. A soldier had complained that she had given too high a grade to his wife’s composition – a wife must be kept in her place, her self-expression moderated, even in the west. Or so it was in the military culture of the mid-seventies from which the author fled.

With one dangerous exception, a violent episode on her return trip, the drama of this narrative is mostly internal, as Buck learns to  live “amid conflicting realities.”  “Events had taken place that just didn’t fit in what I knew to be true of reality. Or even believed to be true.”   She learns to exchange her western one-pointed vision for the pointillism of the bee’s mosaic eyesight, to capture truth from myriad details, the way women have sewn quilts, piece by piece into a whole, for generations.  The attainment of that vision is her new goal as a journalist.

As she was leaving India, the country was plunged into chaos during the Emergency and  the Viet Nam war came to an end.  A short time afterward, Soviet troops moved into Afghanistan, and Khomeini seized control of Iran. These events  changed forever maps and borders for the young backpackers who once streamed overland along the Silk Road to India in search of illumination, drugs, or simply a more magical reality.

“India Bound,”  doesn’t mean “Heading for India” but rather “tied to,” or “linked,”  “I am starting to become bound into the kaleidoscope of worlds that co-exist and intermingle in this place,” she writes.   What she gives her reader is a patchwork of these intermingled realities, often with a telescopic approach to time moving forwards or backwards, in a whirl of color and sensations, of people “met face to face” who now, so richly drawn by the writer, also dwell  in the readers’ imagination,  ghosts of a vanished world.

 

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Review: A Soul Inside Each Stone, Poems by John Tripoulas

A Soul Inside Each Stone  by John Tripoulas

Published by Dos Madres Press,  2016  www.dosmadres.com

In these moving, introspective poems, ancient myth, modernism, daily island life and the raw elements of sun, sea, moon, and rock combine with masks, ruins, and airplanes to create a revelatory, personal landscape –Ikaria, the poet’s home and ancestral homeland to which he returned from his native Ohio to become surgeon general.

His book,  written from his rough island outpost,  is divided into five sections.  Part 1, “View from the Emergency Room”  begins and ends with a journey,  offering pictures of village life, including–aside from rustic olive presses and local taverns–acerbic  glimpses from the hospital and the morgue. In Part 2, “Time Without End,” the journey deepens to myth – in these place poems, Tripoulas celebrates that addictive quality of Greece – where two or more timelines unexpectedly converge in an ordinary location. A metro rumbling over a buried altar, a beach where ancient bronze bodies come ashore, a mountain trail where the Germans invaded “to devour the ancient land” yet ending up with “nothing but stones,”  Ikaria with its predisposition toward falling, are all places where we’re likely to stumble into a time warp, and possibly into eternity.

Speaking of the Byzantine ghost town, Mystras, Tripoulas writes, “Here beside its ravaged walls/ one draws in air/ that Helen once breathed, / a drug evoking/ time without end.”   In such realities a mosquito may be a harbinger of the underworld, the moon,  the mask of Agamemnon, a blind girl on the metro an incarnation of Kore.

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Part 3, “Twice Told” takes us even further into literary landscape, retelling stories from Homer and Dante. In  Part 4, “Stone Song,” the core of the book, the tone shifts to an elegiac mood. These are poems for the dead and the lost, for fathers, patients and heroes, where stones like votaries conceal souls within.  Here the deeply personal, the mythic, and  literary allusion  resonate together in powerful poems, such as  “Sailing to Alzheimer’s” – truly a country for old men.  “I closed the barred door/ turning the lock/ that keeps  the old man/from wandering to the rocks.”  Or in the more intimate portrait of his father, “Bikes.”

The poems in  the last section, the “Disquieting Muses” (the title comes from De Chirico’s painting of sinister dressmaker’s dummies and Plath’s remaking of it) deal with creativity, death, madness, and  inspiration, evoking epiphanies from the lives of Lord Byron, Cavafy, Rupert Brooke, Chet Baker, Monet, and from Tripoulas’ own life,  waking in a storm  to write the “poem of his house.”

Just as currents ripple the surface of the sea, undertows of literary influences from Homer to Yeats, from Keats and Coleridge to T.S. Eliot, Donald Justice, Charles Simic and A.E. Stallings  tug at these poems from below to create complex eddies of meaning.  In “The Prince of Asine,” Tripoulas pays homage to George Seferis’ great poem, “The King of Asine,” telling of a search among ruins and potsherds  for traces of a person Homer mentioned only once,  hoping to touch “with our fingers his touch upon the stones.”  Seferis’ futile search for a palpable sign of those who have gone before seems to peter out in a wasteland.  Tripoulas’s poem (like the whole book itself)  is a reenactment of Seferis’s empty  quest  -and suggests that the element of stone can never  transmit the warmth of a vanished touch from the antique world.  Rather, as  he hints in “Mystras,”  it is the air we breathe — the same that Helen breathed — that allows this transmission of live sensation  to occur across time.   Breath – Pneuma– is the soul but it is also the voice – speech, poetry. It is the soul inside each stone.

Enigmatic, rich, reflective  these are poems to live twice in. Tripoulas’ book is a wise companion to take along on a trip to Greece where you may savor the poems in the settings that inspired them, or to read nestled in an armchair, dreaming of the  Aegean, the bluest sea that ever was.

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Summer Writing Workshops in Greece: Imagine an Island for Writers

 

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Summer Writing Workshops in Greece  Imagine an island awash in a turquoise sea — and your own writing room with a balcony overlooking the blue. Yes, sort of like Lawrence Durrell, when he wrote  Prospero’s Cell.  Imagine working intensely for a few hours at your desk, then plunging into the sea to revitalize your brain and body. Imagine workshopping your new fiction and essays together with writers from all over the world and sharing exquisite meals of fresh produce, fish, and cheese, accompanied by the robust reds and tangy white wines of this sunbaked soil. These and other impressions are all yours at the Aegean Arts Circle  where I had the pleasure of leading workshops for a couple of years. This year’s group is taught by Kitsi Watterson. Previous teachers include Thomas E. Kennedy, David Lazar, and Robert Owen Butler. There may be a place or two left. Contact Amalia Melis at the website linked above for information.
If you can’t join the fun this year — try your hand at these exercises from my 2016 workshop  Ten Writing Prompts on the Theme of Islands

Or check out this video interview with director Amalia Melis here

If you’re heading for Greece for this workshop or just for fun, check out this free guide to the 100 best things to do in Greece  assembled by Jen Miller.

For more writing exercises focusing on place, see Linda Lappin’s The Soul of Place: A Creative Writing Workbook- Ideas and Exercises for Conjuring the Genius Loci, winner of a Nautilus Book Award in Creativity.

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The Ultimate Artichoke Recipe

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In Rome, artichoke season opens in the  early autumn with the arrival of little violetti – from Sicily,  followed as winter rolls in by the prickly, spiny Sardinian magarosa  resembling purplish, armored tulips.  These triumph till spring, when the fat, Roman globe artichokes flood the markets. The season peaks between mid April and early May,  so we may enjoy one last glorious feast  of this noble vegetable with its bitter, pungent taste of spring, its budding promise of summer bloom  to devour with  gusto and not one iota of guilt.

So many places I love in Italy have their artichoke specialties    from the  bronze sunflower- like mandala of the  deep fried  carciofo  alla giudea – a traditional Roman delight served  in the famous restaurants of Rome’s ghetto  — to the rustic, filling artichoke and fava soups  I first tasted  at  the  Pensione  Isolabella   on the island  of Ventotene  on a cold  stormy spring night when high seas spattered  the windows.    Or  the tiny pickled hearts of  the carciofi tardive sometimes called  figli,  hardly bigger than a quail’s egg, blanched in vinegar,  seasoned with fennel, pepper, and preserved  in olive  oil  to be eaten as an accompaniment to  unsalted Tuscan  bread.   Or the chic slimming salad of  thinly sliced raw artichokes and flakes of parmesan cheese, dressed with lemon and olive oil, which  they  used to serve years ago, at one of my favorite restaurants in  Rome  Da Luigi just around the corner from  the Chiesa Nuova.

In my long sojourns  in Rome, I  have accumulated dozens of artichoke recipes for spaghetti, crepes,  soups, garnishes,  involtini, quiches, stews,  torte rustiche, and phyllo dough concoctions,  but it was only recently that I happened upon what  I consider the  ultimate artichoke recipe:  the hearth-roasted artichoke, as suggested by hearth and wood oven expert, William Rubel, in his extraordinary cookbook dedicated to hearth cooking,  The Magic of Fire.

The satisfaction given by cooking on an open hearth is something elemental and primeval, I suppose, stirring childhood memories of cook outs and campfires, fantasies of survival, of  living in a cabin hidden in the woods, of which Gaston Bachelard speaks so poetically in his philosophical study of houses, The Poetics of Space.

If such reveries tickle your imagination,  Rubel’s  book, of which I will offer a fuller review on a later blog, will be perfect bedtime reading.  Here amid recipes of complex baking, roasting, and stewing techniques for the open hearth  used by our ancestors in the olden days, I came upon a page of suggestions for hearth-roasting a variety of vegetables, including artichokes. (Rubel’s book, originally published in 2002, recently got a mention in the New York Times for its discussion of egg spoons).

The procedure is a simple one.  Get a fire roaring and let it burn down to a pile of embers, and while the flames are crackling,  prepare your artichokes for roasting.   First, wash the artichokes well, remove the stem,  and nip off the tip. With a knife, dig out any fluff from the core, but leave the outer leaves on.  Then beat the artichoke against a hard surface,  such as   a marble table top,  or kitchen counter   to flatten it a bit and open up the leaves.  Into the heart and in between the outer layer of leaves,  pack fresh herbs (tarragon, parsley, chives, fresh fennel, dill, fresh thyme, mint or mentuccia, the wild mint growing everywhere along country lanes in Italy, or santoreggia,  a wild herb that favors dry walls), slip in finely chopped garlic and capers, and then dribble olive oil in the heart and in between the leaves.

Using your fire thongs, nestle each artichoke right on the embers, and cocoon each artichoke with red hot embers.  The outer leaves will scorch, but the heart will cook slowly, and in roughly 20 -30 minutes, they’re done. Cooking time depends on the heat and quantity of embers. Remove the artichokes, dust off the ashes, peel away the charred outer leaves, and voilà,   a unique  gastronomic experience.  The artichoke, slightly al dente, retains its characteristic pungent flavor  with the addition of a delicious smoky taste mingled with fresh herbs.  A wonderful accompaniment to grilled lamb.

In Velletri near Rome, a festival is dedicated to ember-roasted artichokes – La Sagra del Carciofo alla Matticella, where huge braziers are set up in the piazza in mid April to prepare these delicacies for hungry crowds.  Matticelle are bundles of clippings from the grape vines after the vineyards have been pruned, once used to heat humbler homes in winter, but also for cooking on the coals. The clippings from different grape varieties impart different flavors to the food.

More about artichokes

Artichokes are renowned in Italy for their curative powers, especially the leaves, which French researcher Jean Valnet cites in his Cura delle Malattie con Ortaggi,  Frutta, e Cereali  as having  a beneficial effect on bile production, liver health, and cholesterol.  The many varieties of artichokes are akin to cardoons, and common thistles,  such as milk thistle, known  cardo mariano,  which, according to Mrs. M. Grieve’s  Modern Herbal  (1931) once upon time was commonly cultivated in the kitchen gardens of England as a salad plant.  Giovanna Garzoni, still life painter to the Medici family in the seventeenth century, often used them in her compositions.

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Blogger Mary Jane Cryan celebrates the Artichoke Festival of Ladispoli, providing interesting anecdotes about the history of this favorite vegetable, http://50yearsinitaly.blogspot.it/    For an amusing video tutorial on how to make spaghetti  ai Carciofi,  see Sergio Baldassare’s  You Tube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EnxZDgbips&feature=relmfu

7 Food Writing Prompts

Food writing, focusing on the personal experience of food — combining memoirs, recipes, technical information, and history in a literary or journalistic text, is a relatively recent genre, popularized in the 20th century in the USA by the incomparable MFK Fisher — although there have been some notable precursors, such as Marcel Proust. In turn, it has given rise to one of the most creative and remunerative forms of blogging today.  A quick glance at Instagram or Twitter feeds will show that we are obsessed with our food and with what other people are eating and cooking. That should be no surprise: a great deal of human history has focused on food.

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Etruscan cook preparing food for a banquet

 

From a psychological point of view, food is our connection with our mothers, with our most archaic identity as a newborn for whom the very first physical sensation as an independent being is hunger. Food and hunger define who we are.

To write about food is to write about our evolution, our feelings, and our deepest identity, or as some might say, our soul.

Below are seven food writing prompts to investigate your food memories.

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1. Set a scene in a kitchen from long ago evoking a meal you cooked, shared, or tasted. (Florence, 1972)
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2. Write about a a visit to a market you find irresistible. Describe colors, sounds, flavors, texture, people, atmosphere, and the art of choosing produce. (Paris market, Rue Mouffetard)

 

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3. Tonight you may dine anywhere in the world and eat anything you wish. Where will you go, with whom, and what will you eat? Describe the food, setting, atmosphere, and company of your ideal dinner out.(Ikaria, GR)
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4. Recall the flavor of a food freshly picked, baked, or caught, and eaten on the spot. Use concrete sense details in your description.
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5. Write about preparing and eating a food you love but that not everyone does. Include a recipe and say why it appeals to you so much.
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6.Write about a laborious dish you prepare only for special occasions.
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7. Write about tasting wine in a special place. Describe the atmosphere, company, and flavor of the wine.  (Methoni, GR)

 

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For more food and travel writing prompts, please see my craft of writing book: The Soul of Place – A Creative Writing Workbook

Walter Cummins on Otherworldly Intrigue in The Etruscan

I was delighted to see that critic and writing teacher Walter Cummins, mentor to generations of writers, included his review of my first novel The Etruscan, originally published in The Literary Review, in his new anthology of reviews and essays Knowing Writers (2017)

His generous review cuts through to what is for me the essence of the novel: the clash and fusion of the mythic and the temporal, gothic and modernism, romance and reality, Italian cynicism and Yankee yearning for spirit and beauty.  My own life plays out, frazzled but energized, in the midpoints of those binaries.

This novel grew out of my exploration of the storied Etruscan landscape and my sojourn in an ancient house. It was nurtured by my literary studies of the Brontes and the gothic, DH Lawrence and Italy,  Henry James, Vita Sackville West, and Daphne Du Maurier, as well as by my research into the lives of early twentieth century women travelers.

Here are some highlights from his review. The full text may be accessed at Cummins on The Etruscan 

“Among the pleasures of The Etruscan are a compelling plot, intriguing characters, vivid sense of place, strong descriptive writing. But Linda Lappin’s principal achievement – and greatest challenge – may be found in her realization of Count Federigo Del Re and the strange power he exerts over the novel’s heroine, Harriet Sackett. 

Lappin’s task -or that of any writer who wishes to create a Federigo Del Re- is convincing the reader to share Harriet’s complex, almost otherworldly, obsession with the man. In The Etruscan she succeeds.

While the novel has a twenty-first century publication date and a twentieth-century setting, many of its narrative strategies are Victorian, with the Gothic overtones found in writers like the Brontes. Del Re is clearly a Byronic figure in the tradition of Rochester and Heathcliffe. Mystery lies at the heart of the story-for much of the novel the question of what happened to Harriet in Italy and, even after the final page, the nature of what draws her to Del Re.

Two realities are contrasted, that of Edwardian perspectives of Wimbly, the Hamptons, and the Hampton’s housekeeper, Mrs Parsons, and that of Harriet’s immersion in another realm. Lappin presents the attitudes and perceptions of Wimbly, the Hamptons, and Mrs Parsons in close third person. But Harriet emerges directly through her first-person diary, a document like that found in many traditional novels. The physical diary itself becomes an object of contention, with Stephen trying to burn it, Mrs Parsons rescuing it, and Sarah preserving the final, torn out page until its content is revealed on the very last pages of the novel. The Italian settings are certainly Gothic, the ancient homes, the treacherous landscapes, the Etruscan tombs. Because of Lappin’s exact descriptions, they are very convincing” –Walter CumminsKnowing Writers: Essays & Reviews

Thank you Walter
The Etruscan is available on kindle.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008KM69YQ

The Christmas Presepe

It’s just like a presepe, people say of the village where I live half the year – a massive hunk of chiseled grey rock on which hundreds of tiny stone houses, domes, and towers have been built, with cellars hollowed deep into the rock face itself.   Approaching from the old road snaking through hilly terrain, you catch sight of it,   checkered window squares aglow above a mossy canyon.

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it looks just like a presepe!

Presepe  is the name given to the Nativity Scene – the Christmas crèche,  where by Italian tradition, the figurines of Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, the wise men and  farm animals are placed  in rustic settings –with the backdrop of old stone barns and houses, like the ones still standing here. St. Francis has been credited with creating  the first presepe in 1223, at the Appenine hermitage of Greccio.  St. Francis’ presepe wasn’t a fixed tableau assembled from  life-sized figures or miniatures.  Wanting  worshipers to see “with the eyes of the flesh” Jesus’s birth in a humble manger, he  set up a straw-filled crib,  placed a portable altar on it,  brought in an ox and a donkey, and celebrated mass there on Christmas eve.   From there the tradition caught on, mingling faith, folk-art, local traditions, and pageantry, eventually becoming the heart of the Italian Christmas.

In the past, Christmas trees were a rare sight in Italian homes. The presepe was the household Christmas decoration. You built it yourself, changing it every year, out of brown paper, cardboard, moss, pebbles, and  twigs, mirrors, electric lights, star-studded dark blue paper for the night sky.  The more ingenious equipped them with running water,   mechanical figures, and music.   In addition to the main players, dozens of extras were attendance – angels,  shepherds,  huge flocks of sheep, and often the figures of wood, plaster, or papier maché,  were passed down like cherished heirlooms. In celebration of the medieval corporazioni,  many statuettes  represent  the different tradespeople bringing offerings to the newborn Christ:  the chestnut vendor, the woodcutter, the laundress, the wool spinner, the weaver, the baker, the fishmonger.  Presepi from different regions and artistic periods have their distinctive flavors, with Naples being the queen of presepi, with an entire street, San Gregorio Armeno, dedicated to the artisans who produce the settings and figurines, some still authentic, but most, these days, made in china.

In Naples, where life=theater and theater=life, the presepe mingles  the sacred and the profane, for each year celebrities are added to the crowds of worshipers scattered around the crib. Obama, Sarkozy with Carla Bruni, Osama Bin Laden, Francesco Totti,  the football player, are some of the past stars, embodied in collectible statuettes you can buy in the shops along Naples’ presepe street. Most recently, Donald Trump, Pope Francis, and Kim Jong-un have made an appearance, slipped in among the Three Kings.

The presepe may actually have pagan origins, for the figurines are akin to the Penates,  the statuettes  that the Ancient Romans kept in their kitchens, symbolizing gods of abundance, which they put on the table at dinnertime.  They are also related to the Sigillum, literally “small image” of the Lares,  the ancestral spirits celebrated in Ancient Rome and Etruria on December 20th in a festival known as the Sigillaria, when figurines representing spirits of dead loved ones were exchanged, and often displayed at home in miniature settings.

The presepe has also been at the center of our Christmas celebrations, too, ever since we rediscovered our passion for miniatures and pageantry after a visit to San Gregorio Armeno, where my husband renewed his connection to his Neapolitan roots.   Our presepe  is constructed from odds and ends collected over the months, like Styrofoam cubes, soup bowls,  candy boxes, and  is dedicated to a changing theme related to the year’s travels or place-based obsessions.  We’ve had Tibetan stupas, Sardinian nuraghi, Etruscan necropoli, and  New Age menhir sanctuaries. For the last few years, though the emphasis has been on the Cyclades!

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Our presepi reflect our yearly travels and place obsessions. This was inspired by Santorini!

 

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Another Presepe in Cycladian style.
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This presepe commemorates our 2 trips to Ikaria. Baby Jesus rocks in a little red boat and the star of Bethlehem comes from the beach of  Faros.

 

In addition to the regular characters present at every Christmas pageant, we also have a turtle, a unicorn, a pilgrim from St James’ Way, a tiny elk, several pigs,  Saint Michael the Archangel, and an E.T.  all gathered to celebrate the birth of the semi divine human spirit, born the very same day as the Mithraic Sol Invictus!

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characters from our presepe

Presepi designed by S. Baldassarre, Photos by S. Baldassarre, Linda Lappin, and Leah Cano

 

 

6 Place-Writing Prompts from my American Library in Paris Presentation

I had the great pleasure of presenting my book The Soul of Place -A Creative Writing Workshop:  Ideas and Exercises for Conjuring the Genius Loci  at the American Library in Paris  this fall, where I conducted a small place-writing workshop.  Here are a few excerpts from my talk – and some writing prompts chosen for this particular venue.

“This is a book about how to enhance our awareness of places and find in the environments around us inspiration and material for artistic and writing projects .  It’s very much a personal journey, retracing  my own creative process and discoveries as a writer, reader, teacher, and traveler.  Its most basic premise is that there is a power or energy at work in certain places  that speaks directly to our imaginations and nourishes them.

Many writers, artists, photographers, psychogeographers have recorded eloquent  testimonies of the ways particular places have inspired them, and it would take to long to share even a few.  They boil down to a few concepts: “Landscape is character,” in the words of Henry James. For  Lawrence Durrell,  “We are expressions of our landscape.”   And the houses and rooms we live in, are analogues for the self. We keep up an ongoing dialogue with the places we live of which we are totally unaware. Houses and landscape inhabit us just as much as we inhabit them.”

Here are 6 prompts from the workshop I gave:

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1. Write about stairs —  you stand at the top or at the bottom of a stairway, and you know that when you reach top/bottom   you will enter a space where something life-changing will happen

 

 

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2. Write about a tree you have never forgotten.

 

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3. Write about your first kitchen in a foreign house –an object in that kitchen that manifests its “foreignness” and what you did with it.
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4. Write about a  place where “silence” had a new meaning for you.
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5. Write about a statue you would like to talk to

 

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6. Recall a window, door, or drawer in a place you no longer live. Take hold of the handle or door knob. How does it feel in your hand? Now open it and describe what you find there.
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For more prompts, please see my craft of writing book The Soul of Place – A Creative Writing Workbook , by Linda Lappin, Travelers Tales (2015) ISBN-13: 978-1609521035

 

Shelley Buck’s EAST: A Woman on the Road to Katmandu — a review

 

London, 1971 found me clad in  floral granny skirts and red hiking boots, spending several hours a week washing dishes for my work scholarship  in the underground kitchen of the Eckerd College Gower Street student residence, staring through a window at  feet shuffling by.  My many free hours were taken up with rambles on Hampstead Heath, nights at the Paris Pullman, countless visits to the British Museum and V&A, and general street haunting.  Russell Square and the adjacent area were packed with Oriental booksellers and antiquarians which drew me like a magnet. I acquired an Arabic dictionary, a Buddha statue and a map of Tibet.  I also purchased Overland to India  by Douglas Brown,  the hippy guide to land travel across the Eurasian continent through Turkey,  Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan to India.  Although I dreamed of dropping out of college and making that  journey – a few of my friends had done so,  I only got as far as the eastern tip of Crete, before backtracking to Italy where I have been based ever since.  I didn’t have the guts or the funds  to undertake such a trip alone.  But Shelley Buck, author of  EAST: A Woman on the Road to Katmandu, did.

Her book opens with a bizarre coincidence right out of a fairy tale.  Researching material for this memoir of her 1972 journey, she searches for the out-of- print Overland  guide which she had once owned but discarded.  The densely annotated, used paperback she finally locates turns out to be her very own copy, which launched into the ocean of time, now washed up at her feet. What more proof could you want  that synchronicity –the mysterious quality of time which fuses unrelated events into cohesive, magical meanings –actually exists?

Being in the right place in the right time  — traveler’s luck — is important in her story, embodied in the talisman she picks up : an ancient coin stamped with the blurred face of Alexander the Great.   And luck will follow her as she sails unharmed through danger– clashes with border guards, interrogations by secret police in Iran, unwanted attention from grabby men, hepatitis.   Like Alexander, she is moved by a deep yearning or Pothos to go east, to see palaces and princes dreamed about in childhood.

While saving money for her trip, the author worked in a lab in California, studying diseased tissues from cadavers.  One day it’s a breast she must dissect, and she  is struck by how much it resembles a Tibetan stupa.  This epiphany is a prompting from Kali, the goddess of great transformations, urging her not to delay, and underlining the nascent feminism in her journey. Stunned when a young man refuses to travel with her—because he is afraid they will be hassled, she sets out on her own to prove to herself that she can do it and  indeed she triumphs —  like Alexandra David Neel on her harrowing trip to Lhasa, she shows the world that a woman can make it through.

Throughout her travels, Buck is sensitive to the condition of women in these eastern countries,  of  the physical and mental freedom she enjoys as a westerner.  In Herat she buys a decorative strip of a nomad’s veil, patterned with geometrical figures representing dancing women.  This handwoven textile, testimony to women’s work and status, invites her to interrogate her own place in the dance and her kinship with strangers.  She asks: “Was I somehow in that dancing line, too, though in so many ways my life was so different from the lives of women who tended camels and tents?  ….Was I at core so different?”  Later, trying to communicate with a Tibetan woman across the language barrier, she writes   “For a few seconds, we gaze at each other across about a thousand years.”

Shelley Buck writes with  immediacy, wit, vivid color, and verve weaving in strands of history alongside wry observations on herself and her traveling companions.  East  is a compelling and delicious book to take along on a journey, or just while armchair dreaming, evoking exotic atmospheres and the joys and mishaps of traveling very rough.  This was all long before the advent of special  garments and accessories, like the she-wee, made life a bit easier on the road for women travelers.  The squeamish will squirm at some of the sanitary conditions she describes with humor, and also graphic details.

Many of the places she visited with such freedom are inaccessible to most western travelers these days,  and dangerous for men as well as women.  Wandering into territories explored by Peter Levi in The Light Garden of the Angel King, Buck sweeps you up on an exciting vintage adventure, in the  heroic days of backpacking when young people struck out on  solo adventures in a world where borders were thresholds to new experiences, not locked doors.

—  Linda Lappin

Title:  East: A Woman on the Road to Katmandu.  Author:  Shelley Buck

Publisher  http://epicaro.com/epicaro_press.htm

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Celebrating Judy Witts Francini’s Secrets from My Tuscan Kitchen

Judy Witts Francini begins her seminal cookbook Secrets from My Tuscan Kitchen   

with advice from her mother-in-law:  “Spend more time shopping and less time cooking” — to emphasize the rule observed by great cooks everywhere: the secret of delectable food lies in the careful selection of the freshest ingredients.  This collection of  classic Tuscan dishes ranges from the rustic and humble (panzanella  or pappa al pomodoro) to the exotic  (cinghiale in dolceforte — i.e. wild boar with chocolate sauce– or cacciucco, the Tuscan fish soup made with red wine)  simply explained  with easy- to-follow instructions, all calibrated for the American kitchen. From favorite antipastos like chicken liver crostini and fettunta (known in Rome as bruschetta) to luscious desserts like pannacotta and torta della nonna, you will learn to prepare and serve delicious, authentic Tuscan meals delighting friends and family, and yourself, of course.  This book offers a no-nonsense and no fuss crash course in the very basics of Tuscan eating.

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The freshest produce makes for the most delectable meals

In her short introduction, the author tells us that she has received many of these recipes from members of her Italian family, passed down from mothers and aunts, ordinary housewives and professional cooks.  Cookbooks are a rarity in most Italian homes, except for an occasional stained sheaf of scribbled notes, held together with paperclips or rubberbands. Italian cooks tend to dispense with precise measurements or cooking times when preparing daily meals.  “Quanto basta,” is the norm – as much or as long as it takes. Butter is often measured  in quantities such as “a walnut,”  rice by handfuls, liquid by fingers or glassfuls.  Judy Witts Francini makes it easier for you to follow by translating this oral tradition into American measurements.  Once you get the hang of it though, you’ll see these recipes lend themselves to the “ad occhio” approach –gauging measures and proportions  by eye, instinct, and taste. At that point, she suggests, you will find that an old yoghurt container will serve as a measuring cup.

Other recipes in this collection were instead “picked up” at markets and shops, through conversations with butchers or fishmongers, or simply plucked out of the air, for wherever  you go in Italy, recipes are the focus of animated discussions. Not only while waiting your turn to be served by the salumaio or baker, or while your anchovies are being filleted or your cuttlefish cleaned, but also while riding on the bus or waiting in line at the bank or the post office,  all around you recipes and cooking methods are compared, often between strangers. It’s illuminating to eavesdrop on such exchanges —  which can take the form of challenges, contests, barters, or selfless acts of sharing. Perhaps this is a second meaning to her mother-in-law’s advice, for if you keep your ears open as you go about your shopping, you can acquire an encyclopedic knowledge of Italian cuisine.

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Keep your ears open while out shopping to pick up cooking tips and recipes!

In addition, the author provides a list of basic ingredients, most of which are easily found at your supermarket – with the exception of the wild boar, for which a good cut of beef might substitute.  Admittedly, the requirement for  vine-ripened tomatoes might be more difficult to satisfy these days, even in some areas of Tuscany, unless you grow your own.  Also enlightening is her explanation of a typical day in Tuscany with an hourly breakdown from the gastronomical point of view. Alas, here too, changes have occurred over the last decade, especially in urban settings, where lunch is no longer a family meal on weekdays.

Judy Witts Francini writes with authority, simplicity, and verve – and this reader wished she had provided a little bit more about herself, her life,  the people and places connected to these recipes – which I am sure would make for fascinating reading.  But that’s not what she is interested in –writing about herself. She is really focused on the task at hand: transmitting the basics of Tuscan cuisine.  On that point, she wisely and generously advises: “The first time you try a recipe, it is new. The second time, you correct it. The third time you make it, it is yours.” In other words,  cherished recipes are not something locked in a box possessed by exclusive owners, but particles in a great stream belonging to all.

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Magic Library of Bomarzo’s Test Kitchen

Judy Witts Francini has gone on to publish other books, maintains a website dedicated to Italian cuisine http://divinacucina.com/  and has a youtube channel providing excellent videos on specific techniques. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7yncVso5NG8mDB7ObGVfKvQ1lL_ps8kx

She organizes cooking classes and gastronomical tours in Italy.

Secrets from My Tuscan Kitchen was recently made available at reduced price on amazon kindle to celebrate the tenth anniversary of its first publication.

For more cookbook reviews by Linda Lappin, see her Review of Prospero’s Kitchen, Island Cooking of Greece, by Diana Farr Louis and June Marino 

and  Review of Cucina Povera: Tuscan Peasant Cooking by Pamela Sheldon Johns both appearing in Alimentum Literary Journal.

For a guide to place, travel, and food writing, see Lappin’s prize-winning  craft of writing book: The Soul of Place – A Creative Writing Workbook: Ideas and Exercises for Conjuring the Genius Loci.

For more on Tuscan cuisine by Linda Lappin, see Pane & Pecorino: Living the Simple Life in Tuscany @ Travelers Tales

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