6 May 1999: White Cliffs of Wight

How is it that everything I read evokes something else? Weeks ago I read The Autobiography of Henry VIII, With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers. There is an epistolary Prologue between Somers and a cousin--or sister as well; therein lies a mystery--of Elizabeth I, and then when Henry begins, his first line is "Yesterday some fool asked me what my first memory was, expecting me to lapse happily into sentimal childhood reminiscences, as dotty old men are supposed to enjoy doing. He was most surprised when I ordered him out of the room."

Today I browsed the new fiction shelves at the library. On a spine I read England, England and saw a fragment of a map with Wiltshire. I plucked it up and gladly recognized the author as Julian Barnes. Just now I flipped it open to the first page:

"What's your first memory?" someone would ask. And she would reply, "I don't remember." Most people assumed it was a joke, though a few suspected her of being clever. But it was what she believed.

Henry VIII wanted to avoid his memories, and this thus-far unnamed character either avoids them or has none; the two books are now linked in my memory and I shall draw parallels throughout.

The premise of the Barnes tantalizes satirically. The jacket blurb: "Picture an England where all the pubs are quaint, the Royals behave themselves (more or less), and the cliffs of Dover actually are white. Now image that the principal national treasures--from Stonehenge to Buckingham Palace--are grouped together on the Isle of Wight. This is precisely the vision that Sir Jack Pitman seeks to realize: a 'destination' where tourists can find replicas of Big Ben, Wembly Stadium, the National Gallery, Princess Di's grave, and even Harrods (conveniently located inside the Tower of London), and visit them all in the course of a weekend."

When you visit Epcot Center, Disney would like you to believe you're in Europe; it builds an imitation of Europe. When you visit Las Vegas, simulacra of Egypt, New York, Pisa, France, and the whole of the U.S. in miniature lure you from every angle. I'm waiting for Las Vegas to build an imitation of Disney so that there can be an imitation of a simulation.

So this Isle of Wight Cliffs Notes of England idea rather appeals to me.

Also I looked at some volumes of Ursula LeGuin short stories. LeGuin says in her introduction to Buffalo Gals something I really liked, about how grown-ups disdain children's literature and the best way to clear a room of derrideans is to mention Beatrix Poter without sneering.

So today my stack of books included Ursula LeGuin, Julian Barnes, Sue Hubbell--and a Newbery book and two Paula Danziger books. Six hours later, I have finished Brideshead Revisited and read the Newbery and the Danzigers and now begun the Barnes. I can talk about Jacques Derrida and Beatrix Potter in the same breath and see no conflict in my literary tastes. And that's one thing about myself that I really like.