As someone who was a huge Lessing fan in my youth, I really look forward to your writing about Melania Trump. (I was riveted by the piece you wrote about JFK's dalliances.)
I am an ex-pat South African whose all-time favorite author is Doris Lessing. Her writing also inspired me. Your piece brought tears of recognition to me.
Did the reverse. I still regard the Western Cape / Boland as my home of choice. Spent some time in Oxford, Lancaster, and now Reading, not to mention living all over SA too. And currently awe-struck by the deep blue skies of Autumn.
Loved some of Doris Lessing, but couldn't get into some of her stuff - or any of Nadine Gordimer's. Odd, but I guess I'm at heart a Bolander, and Adam Small's poetry (in 'Kaaps') appealed straight to my heart, as did Breytenbach's Koue Vuur, and Buys (by Willem Anker) - both best in Afrikaans.
Who knows, I might even end up as a 'writer' - several projects in the pipe line. Shakespeare (and his life and times) has kept me engaged and scribbling, too.
P.S. If anyone out there wants an hilarious-but-also-quite-serious take on Olive Schreiner, Cecil John Rhodes, and a gaggle of indigenous ghosts, intercut with slabs of documentary material, try "Seizure" by William Currie.
Thank you for the story, to which, even as a (gulp) man, I strongly relate. But I must be missing something in life -- I just can't see that every day is more beautiful than the last. Slightly more precious perhaps, being one card closer to the end of the deck. But ever-increasing beauty would, I think, soon blind, if not bore.
Life, for me, moves in cycles and epicycles, a kind of multidimensional oscillation, not unlike respiration. It zigs and it zags, challenges, disappoints, rewards. Days past, beautiful or ugly, by virtue of being past, are safe -- which is its own kind of beauty.
I wouldn't call myself a pure pessimist, but I have learned to be on guard -- too many atrocities and pogroms, not all external. Finding beauty in dark times is a faculty worth cultivating -- though I'm with Edna Millay on this one ("Spring": "...It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, / April / Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.").
Reading this Nina piece was a perfect way to end such an odd holiday that gets stranger every year. Reading this piece was so reassuring. It was like a smooth night flight with a smooth landing. Cross country. Flying west into night, cities like little camp fires. I read this and I remembered living in a building in buffalo many decades ago with bricks the color of sky. I knew life was going to deliver lots of uneventful moments. I’m understanding now I’m getting older by the way I don’t read things that make my time meaningless. I savored this. Reading this literally made me stop and give thanks.
Knowing you now, hard to fathom that home in a dreary brick building with hands and feet tied to doldrums and student loans. I’m sure it wasn’t long until you took flight. Nice read Nina. Thx ❤️
"Every day is more beautiful than the last."
Enjoy the day!
I turned 80 this November and each day has to be more beautiful than the last because I’m here and living it. I love your writing it touched me .
Love this piece Nina! In honor of our faux holiday, I’ll leave with this Lakota prose: Mitakuye Oyasin!
As someone who was a huge Lessing fan in my youth, I really look forward to your writing about Melania Trump. (I was riveted by the piece you wrote about JFK's dalliances.)
Have a look at my book on the Trump women. Went to Slovenia and did a lot of other research on M. https://a.co/d/hAjd0In
Can't wait, she said a little guiltily.
Thank you for reading!
You've done well. Matter of fact just returned from a dinner, lots of journalists, mentioned your name, one knew of you your writings.
Lovely piece, beautifully written. Thank you.
I love your filling in the gaps. More please!
I am an ex-pat South African whose all-time favorite author is Doris Lessing. Her writing also inspired me. Your piece brought tears of recognition to me.
Hi Nina. What is the name of the App that you can search for a word in the Epstein letters/texts? Is it below the belt?
I have linked to the word searchable tranche at the bottom of this newsletter. https://open.substack.com/pub/americanpoliticalfreakshow/p/the-last-picture-show?r=i4n7&utm_medium=ios
Beautiful writing. Thank you.
Did the reverse. I still regard the Western Cape / Boland as my home of choice. Spent some time in Oxford, Lancaster, and now Reading, not to mention living all over SA too. And currently awe-struck by the deep blue skies of Autumn.
Loved some of Doris Lessing, but couldn't get into some of her stuff - or any of Nadine Gordimer's. Odd, but I guess I'm at heart a Bolander, and Adam Small's poetry (in 'Kaaps') appealed straight to my heart, as did Breytenbach's Koue Vuur, and Buys (by Willem Anker) - both best in Afrikaans.
Who knows, I might even end up as a 'writer' - several projects in the pipe line. Shakespeare (and his life and times) has kept me engaged and scribbling, too.
P.S. If anyone out there wants an hilarious-but-also-quite-serious take on Olive Schreiner, Cecil John Rhodes, and a gaggle of indigenous ghosts, intercut with slabs of documentary material, try "Seizure" by William Currie.
Thank you for the story, to which, even as a (gulp) man, I strongly relate. But I must be missing something in life -- I just can't see that every day is more beautiful than the last. Slightly more precious perhaps, being one card closer to the end of the deck. But ever-increasing beauty would, I think, soon blind, if not bore.
Life, for me, moves in cycles and epicycles, a kind of multidimensional oscillation, not unlike respiration. It zigs and it zags, challenges, disappoints, rewards. Days past, beautiful or ugly, by virtue of being past, are safe -- which is its own kind of beauty.
I wouldn't call myself a pure pessimist, but I have learned to be on guard -- too many atrocities and pogroms, not all external. Finding beauty in dark times is a faculty worth cultivating -- though I'm with Edna Millay on this one ("Spring": "...It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, / April / Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.").
Reading this Nina piece was a perfect way to end such an odd holiday that gets stranger every year. Reading this piece was so reassuring. It was like a smooth night flight with a smooth landing. Cross country. Flying west into night, cities like little camp fires. I read this and I remembered living in a building in buffalo many decades ago with bricks the color of sky. I knew life was going to deliver lots of uneventful moments. I’m understanding now I’m getting older by the way I don’t read things that make my time meaningless. I savored this. Reading this literally made me stop and give thanks.
Knowing you now, hard to fathom that home in a dreary brick building with hands and feet tied to doldrums and student loans. I’m sure it wasn’t long until you took flight. Nice read Nina. Thx ❤️
Very moving piece with vivid sense of place and emotional intensity. Thank you, Nina. It made me think of my early days as a journalist.
Nina, thank you for existing