Concerned

Mystère worries that we have forgotten to save him some of the duck breast we had for lunch. He was wrong, of course. Better still, S saved some to grill for a tapa this evening, so I am sure he will get a little more.

We're just back from a quick visit to V and G to catch up on their news, as we haven't seen them for ages. Other than that it's been another day best suited to staying close to the fire, once some present-wrapping had been done. I'm now engrossed in Lyndall Gordon's Lives Like Loaded Guns (what a title!), about  Emily Dickinson and the feuds that engulfed her family for a century after her death. 

I only really knew the cliché view of Emily as a cloistered recluse in virginal white. Gordon's account is the stuff of Victorian melodrama, with passion, adultery, and betrayal. Being fairly ignorant I had no preconceptions, so I'm ready to accept Gordon's portrayal of Mabel, the married lover of Emily's brother (himself married to her best friend Sue) as a scheming, manipulative narcissist. Emily seems to have seen her coming from a mile away, and zinged wonderfully waspish replies to Mabel's attempts to befriend her, managing to avoid ever meeting her despite spending much time in the same house.

On the other hand it's largely thanks to Mabel that Emily's poems were published; she was one of only a handful of people (including the betrayed Sue) to recognise Emily's genius and she was pushy enough to make it happen.

My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun -
In Corners - till a Day
The Owner passed - identified -
And carried Me away -