Bluestockings: The Remarkable Story of the First Women to Fight for an Education by Jane Robinson

Bluestockings tells the story of the first women to go to University in the UK, of their fight for that right, of the prejudices they faced, of the friendship an support that allowed them to succeed, of how they lived, what they learnt, and what they came to contribute to society. It is easy for us to take education for granted (forgetting that, in so many places in the world, it is still denied to both women and men), which is why it is so important to remember, through books like this one, that we owe our freedom to the sacrifices of the ones who came before us.

The women of whom this book speaks are inspiring true heroines who were driven by love of knowledge in a hostile world where they were, due to gender, considered unable to learn - in fact, pretty much unable to do anything but have children and take care of the house. The arguments used against them are both laughable and outraging: women's brains are lighter than men's; studying would make them infertile or hysterical or promiscuous... they proved them wrong by their extraordinary results and, later on, by the high participation and success of women in most areas. 

However, this fight - which started in the 18th century but only gained momentum in the second half of the 19th century - was not a loud one. There were moments of resistance to these revolutionary women's ideas, most notably the 1897 riot of Cambridge students against the idea of awarding degrees to women (which, incredibly, Cambridge only did in 1948), but in general these women were quiet and very well-behaved. This strategy allowed them to prove that higher education for women has excellent results, thus silencing opposition and strengthening their cause. Soon enough, girls from all social classes were going to University, experiencing some measure of independence, expanding their minds, and forming strong friendships. The quaint, old-fashioned and rather sweet descriptions of their daily lives and the anecdotes related are great fun to read about.

Of course, not everything was perfect: there were women who did not adapt at all, others who faced conflicts with their families or economic hardship (and it is touching to read about how they helped each other), and all had a very restricted form of freedom. For example, if they wanted to go anywhere, they had to take a chaperon; for a man to go into a woman's bedroom, the bed had to be removed first and the door kept open (even if it was a family member). Initially, upon leaving University, they either married and had children or became teachers but, by 1939, women were starting to go into every career, inspired by the generations before them. Change is portrayed as a wave that keeps gaining momentum as it moves forward.

The evolution in the part women play in society has been extraordinary - which is why the book is written in the sunny tonality of winners - but we must not forget that there are still many challenges ahead in the struggle for an egalitarian society in which feminism plays an important role. This book does not cover those general changes: its scope is narrower, which allows the author to focus on individual lives, thus re-constructing in delightful detail the way of life of young 'undergraduettes' in British Universities during the late 19th/early 20th centuries (until 1939). The text is so fluid, the stories so touching and amusing, that the pages fly by; and the respect for education and for these extraordinary women is clear throughout.

Warm, funny, important - all in all, a delightful book!

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

Rebecca tells the story of a naive young woman - who remains unnamed throughout the novel - who marries a much older man, Maxim de Winter. It is his second marriage: his first wife, Rebecca (the central, though ghostly, presence in the novel) died in mysterious circumstances the previous year. 

The couple meet at Monte Carlo, where she is working as a companion to an older, quite irritating older woman. She falls for him with the typical abandon of a teenage girl, and the descriptions of the joy-filled torment of knowing that the time spent with him will pass, and that it will all change, are one of the highlights of the book.

Surprisingly, he decides to marry her and, after going on a trip through Europe, they move to Manderley, the De Winter family mansion, where he used to live with Rebecca, whose haunting grip - haughty, mysterious, and unreachable - threatens to destroy any possibility of happiness. In particular, the house keeper Mrs Danvers acts as a memorable passive-aggressive threat due to her fixation on Rebecca and coldness of character; the house is also much more than a physical setting, taking on a variety of heavy symbolic meanings that permeate the characters' lives. Then, we discover a 'terrible secret' about Rebecca's death, and the book morphs into an Agatha Christie type of suspense/detective story, only from a skewed perspective.

It is a very good Summer read - suspenseful, gripping, written in a clear, elegant style, with a sympathetic narrator/leading character, and, perhaps most importantly, a very involving setting, both seductive and scary (a remarkable setting makes reading feel like travelling) - but that is not the only reason I recommend it. Most importantly, it is a sensitive exploration of a variety of important questions, most of them related to power imbalance in relationships and its consequences. The relationship between the de Winter couple is unbalanced in every way: he is much older, richer, more experienced, and from a higher social level than she is. In fact, she has nowhere to go, no life to return to and, due to the lack of perspectives women had, no opportunities to take up; furthermore, she is shy and lacks in self-confidence - you could cal her weak, though her clear wit would keep me from doing so. Thus, her life revolves around her husband, and she tries her best to fit herself into a mold she perceives his first wife to have set. That would be hard enough due to the hardness of learning to behave - and feel like - a member of a higher social class than the one you were educated into, but the presence of Rebecca, who appears to have been the epitome of perfection but of whom no one speaks with clarity, is an even bigger threat to her mental sanity and to any chance of happiness. And why? Simply because, due to the power imbalance between the couple, she is left in the dark through most of the novel, treated as a pet, that is, as someone unable of depth of intellect or emotion, pleasant enough but ultimately insignificant. 

Curiously, Maxim de Winter is not a repulsive character. The fact that he remains charming throughout the novel, the reader sharing his wife's desire to spend time with him an get to know his mysteries, is a proof of the author's skill in narrating. Her subtle - but constant, realistic and very textured - psychological portrait of the leading character, in my opinion, the best feature of this book. The use of symbolism, the descriptions of Manderley, the emotional reactions, all are great achievements. On the other hand, I found the plot slightly clumsy in its development and climax. 

It is interesting to trace Rebecca's literary ancestry. It is a Gothic novel, with a dark, sultry ambiance that reminds the reader of books such as Dracula. However, the most striking parallel is with Jane Eyre: saying it is a retelling is not much of a exaggeration. In both, the heroine from a lower social class falls for a richer, older man with a dark secret related to his first wife; in both, the revelation of this secret is essential to change the power imbalance of the relationship and to lead to a resolve; in both, fire plays a both destructive and restorative role. The main difference is the personality of the heroine: Jane is a far harder, more determined and stronger young woman, much more admirable but not as easy to relate to.

Look at, look at, look at me I'm all the fishes in the sea

Neal Slavin, Miss USA and Miss Universe, 1973

Irving Penn, Fashion, 1950

I'd like to give you just the right amount and get some change

This is one of my favourite 'romantic' poems, mostly because it isn't romantic in the common sense. Instead, it is saucy, combining naughtiness and sweetness in the form of detailed physical observations, teasing suggestions and hazy daydreams. In this context, love is described less as an intense emotional connection than as a pleasant titillation of the senses and playful desire. I like his focus on small details which he finds irresistible - as all of us do in this situation, he seems to be searching for the elusive source of his desire, and, filing to find it, surrendering to the joy of it. The author's sincerity, light humour, the sprinkling of cultural references, the forbidden nature of the desire (the author was a tutor at Oxford, and it seems obvious that this poem is directed at a student), its practicality and solidity, and his sweetness make this a hugely appealing poem.

Valentine by John Fuller

The things about you I appreciate may seem indelicate:
I’d like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I’d like to have you in my power and see you eyes dilate.
I’d like to have your back to scour
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I’d like to successfully guess your weight and win you at a fête.
I’d like to offer you a flower.

I like the hair upon your shoulders,
Falling like water over boulders.
I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.
Your collar-bones have great potential
(I’d like all your particulars in folders marked Confidential).

I like your cheeks, I like your nose,
I like the way your lips disclose
The neat arrangement of your teeth
(Half above and half beneath) in rows.

I like your eyes, I like their fringes.
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.
Your upper arms drive me berserk.
I like the way your elbows work, on hinges.

I like your wrists, I like your glands,
I like the fingers on your hands.
I’d like to teach them how to count,
And certain things we might exchange,
Something familiar for something strange.
I’d like to give you just the right amount and get some change.

I like it when you tilt your cheek up.
I like the way you nod and hold a teacup. I like your legs when you unwind
them.
Even in trousers I don’t mind them.
I like each softly-moulded kneecap.
I like the little crease behind them.
I’d always know, without a recap, where to find them.

I like the sculpture of your ears.
I like the way your profile disappears
Whenever you decide to turn and face me.
I’d like to cross two hemispheres and have you chase me.
I’d like to smuggle you across frontiers
Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.
I’d like you to embrace me.

I’d like to see you ironing your skirt and cancelling other dates.
I’d like to button up your shirt.
I like the way your chest inflates.
I’d like to soothe you when you’re hurt
Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.

I’d like you even if you were malign
And had a yen for sudden homicide.
I’d let you put insecticide into my wine.
I’d even like you if you were the Bride of Frankenstein
Or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian’s Jekyll and Hyde.
I’d even like you as my Julian of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan
How melodramatic
If you were something muttering in attics
Like Mrs Rochester or a student of boolean mathematics.

You are the end of self-abuse.
You are the eternal feminine.
I’d like to find a good excuse
To call on you and find you in.
I’d like to put my hand beneath your chin. And see you grin.
I’d like to taste your Charlotte Russe,
I’d like to feel my lips upon your skin,
I’d like to make you reproduce.

I’d like you in my confidence.
I’d like to be your second look.
I’d like to let you try the French Defence and mate you with my rook.
I’d like to be your preference and hence
I’d like to be around when you unhook.
I’d like to be your only audience,
The final name in your appointment book, your future tense.

18

I turned eighteen yesterday and it was such a beautiful day, one of those precious ones when life feels like the most exquisite art - and I am both an overjoyed participant and a mesmerised spectator. Looking around - to the people who fill my days, to my memories, to my dreams and expectations -, I perceive with clarity how everything in life keeps morphing into new shapes, and presenting me with new challenges. 

I am the luckiest I could be.

I was gently placed in the world by a loving family - and the world has been kind to me. I have been given so many chances to learn and to grow up, and I have taken them (much thanks to the encouragement and strength of the people who surround me). I have somehow made friends - extraordinary ones -everywhere, and from each I have learnt the art and joy of living, and with all I have shared my own small discoveries. Perhaps best of all, there is still so much more to take from the world and to give to others.

The world is in blossom 

(or maybe my eyes are).

Optimus Alive - 2nd Day

Yesterday I went to another music festival, Optimus Alive, to see Lisa Hannigan, Noah and the Whale, Mumford and Sons, Florence and the Machine (originally - it was cancelled), and The Cure. I thought the line-up was brilliant and I felt like partying, so I decided to go just a few days ago.

I have been partying/going out a lot for my usual standards. I seem to go by periods of almost complete lack of activity, during which I feel like being alone all the time, and then there are other times (like now) when I feel like there are so many possibilities in the outside world that I want to take every chance to be out and about with people I like. I enjoy everything about going out, mostly the sense of diffuse, fuzzy freedom and how lazily relaxed I get to feel. I like anticipating and preparing things before going, feeling the music on my whole being, being in the middle of a huge crowd, feeling connected to so many people, looking at all the different faces around and wondering about them, doing and saying silly things just for the sake of it, wandering around from a place to another, jumping and singing and dancing, getting tired and having to sit down for a while talking to a friend, and then going home and finally getting some warmth and rest. Sleep feels so satisfying - gloriously so - after nights out, like a complete turning-off of my system; and I like waking up at lunch-time feeling dizzy and apathetically peaceful (funny how I used to hate it, it made me feel sick), and spending the afternoon in a hazy laze. The summer is the right time for this (moderate) destruction of my usual structure: this will allow me to perceive and think in a clearer way when I need to because it increases my sample of experiences, sensations, and emotions.

As for the music: I have to admit I was disappointed, though probably my expectations were too high. The first disappointment was when Florence+the Machine cancelled their gig: I am not a huge fan, but I like their songs and, having seen them live two years ago, I know that their concerts are truly electrifying. Their replacement by Morcheeba definitely weakened the line-up. Morcheeba did a good show - their music is nice and the singer has an attractive and joyful stage presence - but the audience was (understandably) cold, and it wasn't a very interesting gig.

Lisa Hannigan (who you might know, as I did, as the woman who sings with Damien Rice) was the opener. Her soft, mellow folk, though at this point quite unoriginal, is still very cute and her sweetness charmed the audience, leaving everyone in a good mood.

Noah and the Whale delivered their variety of joyful hipster pop-folk with gusto. The frontman Charlie Fink is also a joy to look at, and their classy attitude - mannered and genuine at the same time - on stage made them very interesting to watch and easy to connect with. The fun tonality of their songs makes them perfect Summer music, and they contain just the right amount of melancholy for my taste.

Much in the same note, only on a deeper emotional current, Mumford and Sons played afterwards. I was surprised by the audience's enthusiastic reaction - I hadn't realized that they were so popular -, which certainly contributed to the high quality of their concert. Everyone jumped, danced, and sang he lyrics, so one felt really connected to the crowd, which is one of the best things about concerts. Marcus Mumford has an excellent voice, dripping with emotion, and the strong instrumentation increased the emotional punch of the experience, which was made even more beautiful by the sun setting and the whimsical stage lights. 

Aftewards, it just all went downhill. As I've said, Morcheeba was all right; the bit I saw of Awolnation was very stale rock; Katy B looked like a Barbie and her musical style - danceable and empty - really doesn't appeal to me.

As for The Cure: what a sad concert. I don't know many of their songs (though the ones I do know I like, and I want to start listening to their discography), so probably I wasn't the target audience. The music sounded good, but the concert was absolutely dead: there was no interaction with the public, no movement on stage, and so the songs quickly became monotonous and the audience seemed to lose interest. Personally, it was like listening to an album, only instead of being comfortably at home, while being squashed by a mass of people - not the best experience. They seemed to be a cover band of themselves.

All in all, it was worth going to, though I do wish that the first three shows had been later on (after sunset: music at night sounds so much more thrilling). 

Hang on travelling woman, don't sacrifice your plan

I would like to say I am a travelling woman, moving through life with my head held high in sort of golden halo of confidence and trust in the world and in my own strength to change it (and myself, a part of it), but I don't think I am. I am a girl, and - just like Alice in her Wonderland - I can be tiny, a child almost, so lonely and powerless, and I can also grow big, almost to the dimension of a grown-up woman (but not quite), with a bright gleam of independence in each gesture.

It is generally a mystery to me how the reduction happens (doesn't it seem kind of unnatural?), and it can leave me sick, even physically, as if my body and mind - my whole being, that artificial division should be avoided - had become those of a stranger. I seem to forget everything and wander through a cloud of fear. Then I find some air and force myself to react and evade my own temporary smallness. It is, all in all, a learning experience: smallness makes me question my life principles, and I emerge with new strength. These reductions make me grow more afterwards.

The fact is that growing up is not a linear process: you grow both down and up, sometimes very fast and other times so slowly you fall asleep from self-boredom. It is painful and lonely and there in no one to do it for you. There's no highway to sunny maturity. In fact, there is probably no sunny maturity where we can head to. Growth just goes on - to nowhere. I hope that the process leads to global improvement, but there is no objective standard on 'human quality', so one can never know for sure; however, I believe that improvement is becoming ever more at home in the world, sharing in its rational structure., emphasising more with other people.

That is the path I try to follow. It warms my heart when I can share the journey with someone else, and I sometimes even feel proud of my own choices (though I know pride is just an inner reward for the self-control, and that cheapens its glow). 

Today,  I feel like a travelling woman: my life lately has been full of discoveries and decisions (of inner dimension). I have definitely been moving on.I am glad I didn't sacrifice my plan in moments of terror, for it came back to me before I lost it, even though life made me tired, told me lies, made me fall.

The plan? To learn, that is, to get a clearer picture of the world (by picture, I mean something including all senses and 'pure reason'). In other words, grander still: to eliminate the distance between myself and the world. 

I feel exhilarated because I have been learning a lot (not only academically), thus living the plan to a good extent. In fact, I feel like everything is going faster: I gain momentum as I live. And I am grateful for all the human warmth I get, but I yearn for more. In fact, after spending months craving and enjoying solitude, I now feel a pit-less thirst for contact, for communication, for touch. I know I am vulnerable to sweet, caffeinated illusions, to falling in love with potential; but I feel awake, and my vision is a loud siren song pulling me on to life.

Super Bock Super Rock 2012 - the music

I'm back! I had the chance to see some amazing shows at Super Bock Super Rock. I had never been to a music festival for more than a single night, so my experience this time was really different: I felt I connected to the music in a much more visceral way. I could just go from one concert to another, even from a band or an artist I had never heard of before, be sucked in by the sound almost immediately, and dance and share in the feel of the moment. 

Of course my favourite concerts were still those by artists whose songs I knew and loved already. The connection you develop from listening many times, taking advice from, and generally interacting personally with their music (often more than you do with real people - the songs won't judge you, an they show you you're never alone) is so wide and deep that your heart just keeps leaping and jumping and soaring and flying while they are performing. I don't think saying that musicians often play the role of demi-gods is going to far: most people do experience a kind of catharsis due to music, and certainly idolise them for being able to express more about our inner lives than we ourselves.

The sum of these two types of experience - the open fun of dancing and smiling to refreshing songs and the emotional pull of seeing some of my favourites perform - made me feel everything in a more complete way.

The first day, the effect of the music was impressive. I was feeling, for a variety of reasons, miserably nervous and distressed; however, as the evening progressed, I forgot and let go of everything that was bothering me. Time flew by without me ever feeling tired or out of place.


The energy and warmth of the Alabama Shakes' concert certainly contributed to make me feel at ease. Their music comes straight from a weary, but joyful, acceptance of life, and they are natural, sincere performers on stage.

I then saw a bit of Bloc Party's concert, which was certainly absorbing and got me dancing. I was sorry to go, but I really wanted to see Bat for Lashes at the secondary stage, and I was not disappointed. She  and her music (of course) are the most entrancing mix of light and darkness: sensuous, honey-voiced, moving in sweet abandon between hope and despair, with a flow of sounds (a powerful use of drums and keyboard) that balances theatrical antics and self-expression. Listening to Travelling Woman that night was one of those crisp moments of realisation that inspired me to make some peace with my own mind. (I will definitely write about it later.) Her new songs seem to have a slightly happier, more danceable tonality - I liked them and look forward to her new album.

After seeing Incubus perform their classic (Drive, better known as that song that goes 'Whatever tomorrow brings I'll be there...'), I surprised myself by being gripped into a state of thoughtlessness by Battles. I generally hate electronic music, but for once I got into it, maybe because of their strong use of fast-changing bright, colourful images, of their attractive presence on stage, and of the structured feel of their music.

The second night, the first act I saw was the main one - the controversial Lana del Rey. My opinion? She is a dream-catcher and producer; she weaves an appealing fantasy world for many people of my generation, and that is an achievement to be praised. Her artificiality is not a bad thing: the emotions she sings about are all too human, and the shiny gloss she adds to them allows the listener to find a meaning in common experiences - isn't that one of the purposes of music and art in general?


I liked her show - her coy shyness, 'perfect' prettiness, good voice and diva-like poses are seductive to watch - but I think she loses some of her mellow shine when performing live. Besides, it was much too short (45 minutes leaves you wanting more).

I then danced for the rest of the night: first, to Oh Land's sweet, happy and very colourful pop (a pleasant surprise); then to Friendly Fires (devilishly Summery music), and finally to MIA, with her powerful mix of sonorities and god-like stage presence. It was great fun!

The last night started with Perfume Genius - a quiet, sensitive type who sang ballads and looked a bit like a young, blond Morrissey -, who gave a very nice early evening show.

I was touched by Peter Gabriel's show with his New Blood Orchestra. The orchestra made all of the songs sound majestic, and I liked it that he read a few critical excerpts on politics and society. Of course, my favourite moment was his duet with Regina Spektor singing Aprés Moi.

St. Vincent's show was also impressive - her broken-doll figure, twisty movements and devil-may-care attitude made her riveting to watch, particularly when she crowd-surfed! 

The concert I most enjoyed was definitely Regina Spektor's, which was the last one I saw. She is one of my very  favourites: I have listened to her songs almost daily since I was fourteen, and keep finding new layers of meaning in the lyrics and new forms of beauty in the sounds. I had already seen her live, and been amazed. This time, though she played less songs and none of her endearing back catalogue curiosities (she kept to the singles and to songs from the last two albums), it was even a more intense experience because I was literally in the front row, which I had never been before! She (and her band) played beautifully, and her attitude on stage is the definition of sweet, which is something I admire.


The audience was a strange mix of Regina Spektor fans, excitedly singing every word and interacting with Regina - the most beautiful moment was, for me, when she sang "For all the friends that we have lost/Let's give them one more round of applause" and the audience started clapping and Regina looked so moved -, and Skrillex fans waiting for his performance afterwards. It was really a very poor decision by the organisation to put two artists that are so different performing one after the other. I found the Skrillex fans' attitude really disrespectful: they kept complaining about having to wait, asking for the time, making unpleasant comments on Regina, and generally looked very bored/almost asleep. Except for that, the concert was perfect!

All in all, it was a great musical experience I hope to repeat!

Off to a Dreamscape

I am heading off for a few days to a music festival with a friend. I am both uber-excited and nervous, though I know that will pass the moment I leave home (the same things always happens when it comes to new experiences, I suppose it is natural to both fear and desire the unknown). I like this feeling of excitement, and I hope to have a lot of fun and to feel free.