Nov 16, 2024
All Things Are Too Small, by Becca Rothfeld
Excess is the theme of Becca Rothfeld’s collection of essays "All Things Are Too Small", about embracing not just what we “need" but what we want, and as much of it as we can get. Her essays make a compelling and impassioned argument for embracing surplus or maximalism, in art, sex, beauty, or desire, and for being discerning and judgmental (all art is not created equal, thank you!) in the private sphere, while holding to egalitarian views in the public and political sphere (John Rawls is her idol). She believes extravagance is our due as humans.
In "More is More", she skewers the concept and practice of minimalism and it did strike a chord with me - I don't prefer clutter but when I read about tidying guru Marie Kondo's advice to tear out only those pages from books that we think are useful, my sense of horror was barely contained. I don’t know if I fully agree with Rothfeld in her disdain for the pared back minimalist prose in contemporary fiction, by writers such as Jenny Offill or Kate Zambreno, whose “anti-narratives are soothingly tractable, made up of sentences so short that they are often left to complete themselves". But she does makes a valid point about how the narrators in these “fragment novels” as she calls them, all seem alike (because you don’t actually learn much about any of them), that these quasi-memoirs are more works of criticism and how the narrator generally seems self-involved and isolated within her own life.
In "Wherever You Go, You Could Leave", Rothfeld shares her trenchant views on mindfulness and meditation practices. I don't agree with all her views in this one because I think meditation can be a useful practice or tool for some people. I do agree that being asked to empty one’s mind of all thought or judgment is not something I have found practical or possible. I also agree that meditation and mindfulness must not be used in order to make people accept their lot in life, when there is an underlying injustice or inequality - the cause of the dissatisfaction - that needs to be addressed. For example, corporations that won't consider modifying employee workloads that lead to high stress but will provide access to counselling or meditation, thus unfairly shifting the onus on to the employee.
There are twelve essays in the collection including a critique of Sally Rooney's novels, and her admiration for David Cronenberg's horror movies. Rothfeld's approach, which is to plunge fully into the black or white and not consider any greys does not seem forced or unreasonable, this is genuinely what she believes and there is an honesty that the reader can appreciate, whether or not you agree with everything she says.
A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle
This is one of my favourite books. I’ve read it a few times over the last twenty-five years, and I keep going back to it because it is (to me) a comfort read. This book was first published in 1989, and it is, as the title says, an account of a year in Provence, the first year that Peter Mayle and his wife Jennie, spent in their new home in the village of Menèrbes.
This was a long-held dream. Mayle and his wife used to visit every summer, soak up the heat and the sunshine, a welcome break from the grey and often wet weather in England, and dream of, one day, buying a house and moving to Provence. And then they actually did it.
The book begins in January, with Mayle and his wife on their way to a delicious lunch on New Year’s Day, surprised by the blue sky and the sunshine, and assuming that it was just going to get warmer from there. And then the frost sets in.
The temperature goes down to minus six degrees centigrade, and freezing in their stone-cold farmhouse, they realise that winter in Provence is a very different thing from the summer. They need central heating. So, they call in the plumber and heating expert, Monsieur Menicucci, who is one of the many interesting characters in the book. He plays the clarinet, loves classical music, and has thoughts about many aspects of life and living that he delivers as he walks around inspecting the house.
Meanwhile the workmen that they had engaged for a kitchen remodel weeks ago, finally turn up and start taking their kitchen apart. Their lives become a mess of noise, dust and rubble. It’s a chaotic existence, but one that they manage to find a good deal of enjoyment in. They're fond of their neighbours, they love the food and the wine, visit all the local markets and restaurants, enjoy long walks with their dogs in the hills behind their house, and learn to operate on what they call Provençal time - sitting back, taking things easy, and expecting that things will get done when they get done.
An attitude that comes in handy when their workmen disappear on them, leaving the kitchen half done, with no clear idea of when they will return. Winter turns to spring and spring turns to summer. And with summer come visitors. Friends, family, acquaintances even, who invite themselves for two weeks of free hospitality while Mayle and his wife run around providing for all of them, and waiting for tourist season to end.
And it does. Their lives are eventually restored to the tranquil routine that they've come to love. The workers come back, the kitchen is finished, the central heating is installed and the year ends with a party for all the friends they've made in this new life.
Along the way there are descriptions of incredible meals, many bottles of wine, several glasses of pastis, games of boules, days spent in the sun and in the pool, long walks under a clear, blue sky, winter nights in front of a roaring fire with a bowl of warming stew, and through all this, a feeling that time has slowed down a bit. And that in this new life it is possible for Peter and Jennie Mayle to shed their city-bred attitude to time and schedules, and to enjoy the small pleasures that each day brings.
You read about this delightful life that they've managed to make for themselves and you close the book hoping that one day that might be you - maybe not in Provence, but that wherever it is, you find your bit of heaven.