Wandering

Saturday, December 02, 2023

I’m starting to find the kind of fun at Macy’s that I have enjoyed in other jobs. Yesterday, I checked out a woman, an American, who mentioned having lived in England for many years. I wondered why, and she described studying British literature in college and, afterward, choosing to go where her favorite authors had lived, wanting more insight into their backgrounds and evolvement. In that process, she became enamored with England, found a job, and stayed.

Her interests were up my alley, for long ago, I spent years informally studying writings by Jane Austin, the Bronte siblings, and others. My focus was on early 19th-century British women writers, particularly Charlotte Bronte. I then lived in LA, and its large libraries made what I was studying available. Unintentionally, I became an armchair expert on certain British (and American) writers of that earlier era.

For that customer and me, the past snapped forward. We exchanged brief observations about the emergence of women writers against social backgrounds without any interest whatsoever in feminine intelligence and observations. We spoke of admiring early British women writers, talented, having to struggle mightily for recognition and economic viability.

To me, Charlotte Bronte was the epitome of that period drama. She was the eldest of four Bronte siblings who grew up in the most dire poverty. All were creative and talented, and Charlotte was the boldest. She first published under a male pseudonym, until finally encouraged to publish using her own name. A wonderful storyteller, she was bright, insightful, and warm; I loved her works.

So long ago all that learning, and yesterday, the delightful exchange. Remembering renewed my passion for the works of early significant women writers; and appreciating how, finally, they managed to prove their intellectual- and skill-worthiness and start gaining economically.

Dear Friends: Being out and among taps into social and mental relevance. Diana