COMMENTARY – Letters from Athens

Goodbye, Tom Stoppard

Talk about leaving something behind! Tom Stoppard, who has just died, aged 88, wrote—over the course of five decades—35 stage plays (including seven translations or adaptations of foreign work), 11 radio plays, 6 television plays, and 14 film and television adaptations of books and plays. An opus which will keep his memory fresh for years to come.

I am not about to write an obituary complete with all his life details. Every newspaper has done that, and writer, journalist and magazine editor Tina Brown, who knew him personally since she was a teenager (he lived close to them and was friends with her father) has posted a lovely eulogy on Substack.

Stoppard wrote great theatre because he wrote great dialogue, witty and argumentative. In his own words, ‘Writing plays is the only respectable way of contradicting oneself.’

Here is a description of him, from an obituary in the Guardian:

A tall and strikingly handsome man, with a long, bloodhound face, a thick tangle of hair and a casually assembled wardrobe of expensive suits, coats and very long scarves, Stoppard cut an exotic, dandyish figure, a valiant and incorrigible smoker who moved easily in the highest social and academic circles, a golden boy eliding into middle-aged distinction and never losing the thick, deliberate accent of his origins, even though he never spoke Czech. He carved out his career in his own always carefully chosen words. He was often thought to be “too clever by half,” but never patronised audiences by talking down to them, even if they had to work hard to keep up.

Stoppard lived a charmed life in England, something he was always grateful for, considering a large part of his family died in the camps. This part of his personal history he only got to research in later years.

In my case, I credit Stoppard for instilling in me an eternal love of the theatre. Not living in England, I sadly did not manage to see all his plays, but I made it a point to see as many as I could, and they remain vivid in my memory. The wit, the irony, the sarcasm, the erudition and, above all, the sheer enjoyment.

Rozencrantz And Guidenstern Are Dead, The Real Inspector Hound, Arcadia, India Ink…The list goes on. Wonderful actors, such as Bill Nighy and the incomparable Felicity Kendall, fantastic sets. A great director, for a lot of them, in the shape of Peter Wood.

He’s always been number one in my list of people to invite to an imaginary dinner party. May you rest in peace, Mr Stoppard, and thank you.

*Photo: Scott Gries—Hulton Archive/ Getty Images*

Cover reveal and more

Things are moving fast all at once. After months of idleness, publication date for my debut novel, Marguerite, has been set for December 4. Very exciting!

While waiting for the publishers to reveal their complete marketing plan, I have been am busy setting up my side of things. I think I mentioned before that I joined the Author’s Guild of America, which was a shrewd move. They provide free tools to build a website (they can also build it for you if you like). They organised my domain name and an email in my pen name. They embedded the email sign-up form into the website. And the best—you communicate with a REAL PERSON (shoutout to Hector!) No bots, and no endless search for some elusive ‘Happiness Engineer’. Yay.

As for the rest, why must everything be so complicated? I was assured by Kindlepreneur (a very useful source of all kinds of information) that the best mailing service for authors is MailerLite, as well as being the easiest to set up. Well, either I’m a moron, or the other services need a degree in advanced coding. I have been struggling with the damn thing for days—despite a bot who is better than most, and even some help from a real live person. But it’s done, more or less. Finally, I’m pretty familiar with IG, via my art account, but I hate X, Facebook etc. I think I’ll pass. I’m too old to make little videos on TikTok.

Take a look at the cover and tell me what you think. I’m quite pleased with it. I was very clear about NO bare-chested duke clutching a swooning maiden.

It was difficult for the graphic artist to find a stock photo I liked, so I came upon the idea to use an old painting (in the public domain). This is an oil portrait by Swiss artist Jacques-Laurent Agasse (1767 – 1849), possibly of Mademoiselle Cazenove. Then I wanted to superimpose a profile of the duke watching Marguerite ride in the park. The graphic artist did a good job of my ideas, I think.

Finally, a bout of shameless self-promotion:

I am delighted to present my debut novel, Marguerite. Set in the elitist and socially restricted milieu of the ton in Regency London, it is the story of an independent, opinionated girl and the man who pursues her despite her refusing his offer of marriage.

If this sounds like your cup of tea, I would be grateful if you would consider preordering the book. Preorders help new authors get discovered, and your support is invaluable.

Once you’ve read the book (if you manage to finish and if you haven’t hated it!), I would love it if you would consider leaving a review. Even a sentence helps other readers find the book, and I am interested in every piece of feedback.

I’d also like to invite you to take a look at my website, Marina Montrose Author, where subscribers to the Reader’s Club receive a free, exclusive short story as a thank you gift. You can join here:

https://www.mmontrose.com/disc.htm

Thank you for being part of this adventure. 📚

P.S. The book is available for preorder on Amazon, but print copies only on Amazon.com still…Here is a link to all the other places where you can preorder. Or order later on.

https://cupidsarrowpublishing.com/marguerite

Art on a rainy afternoon

Josepha, the young woman who runs the art studio I attend on Mondays and (when possible) Tuesdays, has set up a Saturday afternoon painting session she calls apéro peinture. The idea is to attract outsiders who are beginners and just want to try painting, but this has had mixed results. Attendance varies. So, a group of the usual suspects decided to take over yesterday, to while away a rainy afternoon.

The idea is not to take ourselves seriously, but interpret the subject as the fancy takes us. We all sit around a table set with small easels, boards and acrylic paints and we all paint from the same model, provided by Josepha. We are fuelled by apple cider, wine and tidbits.

Yesterday the inspiration was a work by Suzanne Valadon (1865-1938), a French painter who in 1894 became the first woman painter admitted to the Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts. She was also the mother of painter Maurice Utrillo. The painting is of a, shall we say, corpulent woman lying on a couch, smoking.

What is always interesting in such situations, is how differently people interpret the same subject. In barely two hours we were supposed to finish a small painting (acrylics dry fast), and this was accomplished amid a lot of banter. We always mock each other mercilessly and have to defend our choices.

*Note the birthday cake. With candles* 🎂

Christophe and I decided to omit the cigarette, on the pretext that smoking is unhealthy and Non-PC; Philippe on the contrary gave the woman a spliff and drew her levitating above the couch, with three balloons hovering above; and Nathalie actually put her in a bathtub!

Josepha was accompanied by her baby, Garance, her mother (to look after Garance who has just learned to walk), her dog Odin (who is a frequent visitor to the studio) and her partner Tommy who is a journalist and does not draw of paint. His first effort was quite creditable.

Needless to say, a merry afternoon was had by all. However, the artistic benefits are not to be understated, as this type of exercise allows one to let go of rules like perspective and colour values and give free rein to one’s imagination.

My finished version. Cigarette apart, I did not stray too far from the original.

A change from doom scrolling

How about some poetry instead of the relentless march of horrific news we are subjected to daily?

I never watch the news live anymore. I only scroll through the titles, glance diagonally in case something catches my attention and read pieces that interest me—about new books and films, art exhibitions, or people who do unexpected and funky things. My children mock me about being a fringe reader, but I do enjoy it.

*Irrelevant but hopefully cheering sketch*

Looking through available films on iTunes and elsewhere, I notice a huge number are horror movies. This is amazing to me—aren’t people horrified enough by what is happening in real life but they need to scare themselves further? To each his taste, I suppose.

Meanwhile, there is nothing more soothing than poetry, so I leafed through favourite books to find something to improve your day. Browsing, I realised a great number of poems deal with grief, loss, fear and other lowly feelings—of course, expressed in beautiful language. Nothing like newspaper articles, but still. Even the Romantics are very concerned with death and loss of love. However, there are poems to lift the heart, so here is one of them, about the transformative power of words, by Dylan Thomas.

Notes On The Art Of Poetry

I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-on
in the world between the covers of books,
such sandstorms and ice blasts of words,,,
such staggering peace, such enormous laughter,
such and so many blinding bright lights,, ,
splashing all over the pages
in a million bits and pieces
all of which were words, words, words,
and each of which were alive forever
in its own delight and glory and oddity and light.

From rejection to publication

After years of getting rejections for my writing, I finally signed with a publisher

If rejection letters were paper, I could have covered my bedroom walls with them (or made a bonfire). Thankfully, nowadays they are digital, so they remain hidden in an Excel sheet (just so that I can remember not to submit to the same agent/publisher twice!)

But let me go back a little: I have always loved writing from an early age, and in high school served as editor of the school mag, entitled Sunny Days. This activity alleviated hours of boredom in class, where I could correct texts and draw the artwork while the teacher droned on…

Earlier even than that, at age 10 or 11, I was let loose upon my mother’s bookshelves. She was a great fan of Agatha Christie and Georgette Heyer, both of whom I devoured (as well as a great variety of other authors, some more highbrow than others.)

*This must have been the cover at the time.*

Over the years, I wrote a number of short stories, some of which were placed in competitions, while others were published in Anthologies and online magazines (I got plenty of rejections there, too.)

I was (and am) a rabid bookworm, reading over a wide range of genres—literary fiction, memoir, short stories, historical novels, travel books. For entertainment I read mystery and crime. No romance.

Later I set myself the task of writing a book and of course I decided upon mystery. I took some online courses and attended the Festival of Writing at York twice (the most fun time). I completed no less than two novels, one set mainly on a yacht in the Greek islands, the next in the world of international horse racing. I really found it interesting and fun to work out the plot, the red herrings and twists and cliff hangers.

I started the process of querying agents but, although I got great feedback from some and quite a few requests for the full manuscript, the final answer was no. It was never the right timing, or quite the right thing for their list at this particular moment. Most just ghosted me, a practice I find at best impolite when they have requested the whole ms, however busy they might be. Publishers did reply, but still it was no.

I considered self-publishing but, after a lot of research, realised it would be very costly—both in money and time spent—in order to be done properly. Even if you self-edit to death, even if you find beta-readers for free, even if you design your cover yourself, it’s not enough. You need professional edits, a great cover, proper promotion. I’m not good enough to do it, don’t have the time or patience and I am too proud to press the button on a shoddy job. So I persevered and am still persevering.

*This is a mock up I made for the cover of one of the mysteries, when I was considering self-publication*

Meanwhile, lockdown happened and, having more time on my hands, I started re-reading Jane Austen, whom I had not touched since school. She has stood the test of time for a reason. Then I went on to read some of Georgette Heyer again, and really enjoyed the banter and great writing. One thing led to another and, having shelved the mysteries (for now) I have written a number of Regency romance novellas.

Amazingly, I sent one off to an indie publisher and got a favourable reply! I was astonished, as I had actually forgotten about it. However, my excitement was quickly dampened because, after I signed the contract, they then went radio silent for the whole summer. Apparently one of the team had a medical problem, so delays were understandable, but emails went unanswered which freaked me out a little. I reached out to one of their authors who explained this can happen with indie presses because they are short staffed, and that patience was needed. But still.

However, they returned with a vengeance and now things are moving fast. My editor Lisa was lovely and actually there was not much to change or correct. The discussion about the cover went well. Publication date is early December, all fingers crossed—and I am panicking a little because there are so many things to do. I had to set up a Facebook page (I hate Facebook), and IG and X accounts. I have joined the Author’s Guild of America (the publisher, Cupid’s Arrow Press, is American) which is great: there’s a fantastic forum where you can get feedback and advice from other writers, they have tools for building a website, which I have done, and they even offer legal advice if you need it. But there is still a lot to do, and I am new at this.

My book is called Marguerite, which is the name of the heroine, but more about that in another post. I am using the pseudonym Marina Montrose for the novellas.

Stay tuned for further developments. I know historical romance is not everyone’s cup of tea, but I hope some of you at least will read and enjoy it. I would be honoured.

Kerry James Marshall at the Royal Academy

On a flying visit to London I took the opportunity to see an outstanding exhibition of the work of American artist Kerry James Marshall.

*2009. Acrylic on PVC panel. Notice the painting by numbers on the wall?*

I had never before seen his paintings in person, and they are very powerful indeed.

*Untitled (Studio) 2014. I love the bright pots of paint—the yellow seems to have dripped onto the dog under the table.*

Marshall is an artist possessed of a vivid imagination, and his work is full of references which span art history, civil rights, comics, science fiction, his own memories and more.

There is a very wide range of work on display, and I cannot say I liked it all, but the large paintings—some just huge sheets of canvas pinned to the wall—were fascinating. They are vivid, acrylic works full of signage, collage and hidden references; they are realistic, but also contain allegory and symbolism.

Every painting tells a story—and every time you look, you notice another detail. Sheets of music, code numbers, letters and words, flowers and animals. There are references to historic events, especially concerning Black history and slavery, but he also celebrates daily life and imagines optimistic futures.

*This was an enormous roll of canvas pinned to the wall. I love the people’s postures and their bright clothes*

An artist and professor, Kerry James Marshall was born in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1955, and is probably one of the most influential painters working in America right now. In 2017, Marshall was included on the annual Time 100 list of the most influential people in the world.

*For some reason most of the photos I took were crooked, so I had to crop them before posting.*

His subject matter is African-American life and history. If you zoom in on the photos, you will notice a lot more detail.

*Untitled (Underpainting) 2018. Monochrome work (literally an underpainting) of Black kids on a museum trip*

Despite his often bleak subject matter, Marshall’s work is joyful and optimistic—due to his vivid palette, but also because his subjects appear to be enjoying themselves.

*Keeping the Culture, (2010, Oil on board) depicts an Afrofuturistic household where the future merges with the past.*

In a 1998 interview with Bomb Magazine, Marshall observed:

“Black people occupy a space, even mundane spaces, in the most fascinating ways. Style is such an integral part of what black people do that just walking is not a simple thing. You’ve got to walk with style. You’ve got to talk with a certain rhythm; you’ve got to do things with some flair. And so in the paintings I try to enact that same tendency toward the theatrical that seems to be so integral a part of the black cultural body.”

An autumn of plenty

Nature is fickle—I assume it is a combination of factors such as sunshine, rain, frost, heat and cold in varying amounts that determine whether the grass grows much or little, how vegetables will grow and how much fruit trees will produce. I do not profess to be much of a gardener—what I like is to observe and gather.

This year we have had a profusion of fruit, starting with cherries. Usually the birds get the lot before they’re even ripe enough to pick, but this year we ate our fill, and made pies and jam. Then the mirabelles, small yellow plums, reappeared en masse after some years where there were few and far between. And greengages on a tree where I’d never seen any before.

We also have walnuts, although I saw a red squirrel skitter up the tree—there are enough for everyone.

The crabapples are the dog’s delight for a mysterious reason (they are hard and sour).

The pears are ripening slowly, as are the apples.

We still have raspberries which stain my morning yogurt a vivid scarlet.

And lovely courgette flowers—they are delicious split lengthwise and sautéed quickly with a drop of lemon. And the courgettes themselves, of course. Together with late tomatoes and green beans.

Finally, lots of flowers still. It is a delight to be outdoors, even though there’s a chill in the air.

La rentrée

La rentrée is the French expression for the end of summer, when everyone returns from their holidays and the kids go back to school. An expression guaranteed to provoke annoyance if not anxiety in childish breasts. As a child in Greece, I remember being enervated by cliché talk of ‘the first rains’ (after months of drought) and ‘every rascal goes back to his desk’. It was the last thing we wanted to hear after running around barefoot and half-naked for three months. Back to ghastly leather shoes and blue overalls with white collars.

Be that as it may, the days are drawing in and there is a chill in the air.

*I have been painting a lot, inspired by summer bouquets. Peonies, watercolour on paper*

After a very busy but pleasurable summer, with all the family here and meals for up to fifteen people (necessitating endless shopping, cooking and cleaning up!)—al fresco lunches and barbecue dinners—we are back to being à deux. The garden is, somewhat belatedly, providing us with plenty of tomatoes, courgettes, green beans and lettuce, so I am planning some healthy eating after the plethora of ice creams and chocolate eclairs.

*Greek Interior. Oil on hardback book cover*

I am determined to avoid the horrendous news as much as possible (why are most politicians so hideous?) and cocooning with painting, writing and reading. I have neglected the blog for weeks, due to lack of time and inspiration, but will now do some catching up on summer activities. Also resuming the puppy’s training, since he has become horribly spoiled by everyone.

But he is helping pick the blackberries 🙂

The art of Kintsugi

Meet Sanga, our overgrown and over enthusiastic puppy. In one day he ate my slippers, shredded my favourite pashmina and broke the lovely little plate above.

Having got over my extreme annoyance and digested the fact that both slippers and pashmina were shot, I thought it would be an opportunity to try something which has intrigued me for a while: the ancient Japanese art of Kintsugi.

Kintsugi, which probably originated in the 15th century, is a method of repairing broken pottery by mending it with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold. People became so enamored of the new art that some were accused of deliberately smashing valuable pottery so it could be repaired with the gold seams of kintsugi. Sometimes a pottery piece was chosen for deformities then deliberately broken and repaired, instead of being discarded.

Kintsugi means “to join with gold” and it serves as reminder to stay optimistic when things fall apart and to celebrate the flaws and missteps of life.

Kintsugi encompasses a profound meaning and philosophy beyond mere repair, namely the idea of embracing imperfection and impermanence and transforming them into something valuable. It reflects an aesthetic perspective on the way people live, since from this perspective our life is like a vessel.

A good Kintsugi vessel can be very expensive, because it requires months of intricate work. My plate was only broken neatly in two pieces, and I used glue mixed with gold powder (courtesy of YouTube) but I can assure you it is a messy and delicate procedure which ended in my kitchen looking as if a gold storm had hit it.

I am too impatient for the real thing, I’m afraid. Look at this:

And here’s an interesting video on the real thing

When will they ever learn…

Here we go again. The leaders of the free world bombastically beating their chests over the strikes in Iran, boasting that they were ‘A spectacular military success.’ As if Iran is going to take this lying down. The Ayatollahs immediately warned the attacks would have ‘everlasting consequences.’

Various countries are now taking sides, giving contradictory opinions, while bracing themselves against terrorist attacks in major cities.

This is not a political essay—there are others more competent that I to give a considered analysis of the facts, which can be read in the papers and news feeds. Opinion pieces abound, one of which bitterly—and accurately—states that the world is ruled by “three angry old men.”

As a layperson, though, I can but wonder—does nobody look at the facts before taking such decisions as politicians have been taking the last several months?

All the American wars of the past years have ended in disasters—think Vietnam, for example, or Afghanistan, where after twenty years the Americans fled, leaving tons of expensive military equipment behind, their Afghan collaborators in the sh*t, and all the improvements in daily life (especially for women) wiped out in one stroke as the Taliban instantly surged back into power.

And it’s not just America—half the world seems to be on a warpath as we speak.

I’m sure a lot of people in various industries benefit financially from all these wars, but who pays the highest cost? The boys drafted from US villages who were sent to the other end of the world to fight the Viet Kong, the unarmed civilians who see fire and hailstones rain over their hitherto peaceful homes, the mothers sending their kids off to war, the old and vulnerable, the healthy young people returning maimed and broken beyond repair.

It beggars belief. Where are the gains from all this? And is there a solution? Probably the only one is endless negotiation until one is hammered out.

Do you remember this old song?

Where have all the husbands gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the husbands gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the husbands gone?
Gone for soldiers, every one
Oh, when will they ever learn?
Oh, when will they ever learn?

Peter, Paul and Mary