Literary Highlights of Christ Church College, Oxford University

Christ Church College at Oxford, founded in 1546, has a rich literary history. The majestic front quad and fountain recall scenes from Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited. The movie adaptation of Philip Pullman's The Golden Compass was filmed on this campus too.

Christ Church was also the model for Hogwarts' dining hall in Harry Potter, making this Oxford college the most popular tourist destination. Visits are limited to afternoons and there is an admission charge.

According to Oxford legend, the fireplace andirons inspired the trippy neck extending scene in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Lewis Carroll was a lecturer of mathematics at Christ Church, which was his alma mater too.

The entrance to the dining hall (above) is nearly as grand as the adjacent cathedral. Christ Church is the only Oxford college with a cathedral, instead of a smaller chapel, and visitors can attend Evensong without paying admission. The colleges of Oxford University were originally founded as religious institutions.

On a rare clear day, the limestone glows as gold as the setting sun. Although Christ Church is one of the wealthiest colleges, it ran out of funding to complete the cloisters so the front quad is open to the rain. The arches on the walls show where the covered cloister would have been attached had their patron Cardinal Wolsey not lost favor with King Henry VIII.

Despite its posh history, the rainbow flag in back quad shows that the student body is open-minded now.

The back entrance leads to...

Merton Street, which has hardly changed since medieval times. You can see how living in Oxford inspired me to write a novel about an American at a British school. This is my magical home away from home.

A Walk from Bowdoin College to the Androscoggin Swinging Bridge

Only a good friend would brave Maine at this time of year. I met Sherry during my junior year abroad in London. She's always been a game traveler. On a previous visit, we'd gone cross-country skiing in our woods, but it's been a freakishly warm winter in New England.

My house is next door to Bowdoin College, where my husband teaches Japanese and British Politics.

You might recognize my husband as Lord Grantham on Downton Abbey. Thanks to Bowdoin art professor Mark Wethli for the uncanny PhotoShop job! Yes, we are mourning the end of that gig.

Bowdoin has deeper roots in the past: it was founded in 1794. Massachusetts Hall, the oldest building on campus, dates back to when we were part of Massachusetts. Maine didn't become state until 1820.

Another old campus beauty is Searles Hall. During winter the quad is flooded to become a skating rink.

Bowdoin is located in Brunswick, the biggest town in Maine with a population of 20,000.

There are plenty of mom and pop stores like Frosty's Donuts (circa 1965).

 Keep walking, folks. We don't need a warm-out-of-the-oven wild blueberry doughnut...maybe later?

Time to cross the bridge over the Androscoggin River to Topsham, past Sea Dog Brewing.

The dam once powered the Androscoggin Mill. Now the mill houses art studios, restaurants, a flea market, an indie movie theater, our local radio station, and the winter farmers' market (on Saturday mornings).

The Androscoggin Swinging Bridge from Topsham to Brunswick, Maine

On the Topsham bank of the Androscoggin is a lovely path leading to the Androscoggin Swinging Bridge.

This footbridge was built in 1892 by John A. Roebling's Sons Co., who also designed and built the Brooklyn Bridge. No joke!

A transplanted New Yorker myself, I find this fact reassuring, despite the pronounced bounce underfoot.

Factory workers used the bridge to commute from their dormitory style housing in Topsham to the cotton mill in Brunswick.

This scenic walk is a three-mile loop from my front door.

I love my town!

Blogwatch: This post is part of Les@TideWaterGarden's Winter Walk Off. If you want to share a winter walk from your home, post it by March 19th with a link to Les. Links to more Winter Walk Off posts coming next week.

The Little House by Virginia Lee Burton: found for real in London

Walking up Drayton Gardens, a residential road in London, we saw a little house, wedged between townhouses. Above the ancient door was a mural of the house’s pastoral grandeur. Like the shepherd at the gate, I stopped in my tracks. Tears welled up in my eyes.


Growing up in Manhattan, one of my favorite books was The Little House by Virginia Lee Burton. My father saved it from his childhood collection. He would have been 6 and living in Manhattan too when it was released in 1942.

Sadly that first edition book did not survive my children. I cried the day I found the yellowed pages scattered in the nursery. I replaced it and supervised picture book reading after that.

The Little House is an American tale of a small pink house in the country. She sees the distant lights of the city and wonders what it would be like to live there. Over the years, the city sprawls towards her. Abandoned by the family who built her, she grows derelict and is trapped between skyscrapers, no longer able to see the stars at all.

“Then one fine morning in Spring along came the great-great-great-grandaughter of the man who built the Little House so well. She saw the shabby Little House, but didn’t hurry by.”

The Little House was published in 1942, but the story feels like a current tale of urban sprawl. Burton’s gorgeous illustrations remind me of another favorite artist, Grandma Moses. Her words are both poetic and visionary. The Little House won the Caldecott Medal in 1943.

Back in the 1970s, my family lived in a brownstone in a vanishing neighborhood of low-rise buildings. The old wood frame building next door, one of the last remaining in the city, was torn down to build a “pencil building” before laws banned them. Pencil buildings were mini-apartment buildings, built on a single lot.

On the avenues, rows of century old townhouses were razed to build luxury condominium high-rises. The Old World feeling of Yorkville became Upper East Side posh. Today there are no more children playing unattended on the sidewalks. Brownstones remain midblock, wedged between huge apartment buildings.

SPOILER ALERT

Living in small town Maine now, I feel like the Little House dug up from the city and transported:

“ As the Little House settled down

on her new foundation,

she smiled happily.

Once again she could watch

the moon and the stars.

Once again she could watch

Spring and Summer

and Fall and Winter

come and go.

Once again

she was lived in

and taken care of.”

Virginia Lee Burton passed away in 1968, when I was just learning how to turn pages without tearing them. Burton’s picture books are still in print today through Houghton Mifflin. The Little House would make a special holiday gift for your child or grandchild. Of the many books I passed onto other children when mine got older, this one remains on my shelf and in my heart.

Do you have a favorite picture book from your childhood?

Book Award Watch: Tonight is the National Book Award. I'm rooting for Maine author Phillip Hoose.  Claudette Colvin: Twice Towards Justice tells the true story of a teenaged girl who refused to give her seat to a white woman on the bus. Colvin was jailed 9 months before Rosa Parks and went on to testify in court against segregation. Hoose interviewed Colvin to tell this true heroic tale, for the first time giving it the attention it deserves. Hoose's guest tonight is Colvin. I dare you to watch the video above with dry eyes.  Update: Phillip Hoose won the National Book Award for Young People's Literature - congratulations!

Shakespeare Watch: the Brunswick High School in Maine is performing Much Ado About Nothing on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights at 7pm and 2pm matinee on Saturday.  In addition to a ticket, bring one item of non-perishable food to contribute to the food drive.  Ten percent of ticket sales are also going towards the hunger drive, once costume costs are paid.  The kids are doing a great job with this delightful romantic comedy.  I've been observing rehearsals to research my young adult novel as u like it.

Winter Work

How cold is cold? Since moving to Maine, my definition changed. It is often below zero F when I wake up (minus 18F last Friday!) A cold day is when it doesn’t make it into the double digits above zero. The sea water freezes. On Bailey Island you’ll find bright red starfish, purple periwinkle snails and tiny crustaceans in the summer tidal pools. Now all you’ll find is ice.

The last of the migrating birds are heading south.

The leaves are long gone, and the skies turn cold blue. Sunsets bring a warm glow.

The air burns like liquor in your throat. Your lungs constrict. It reminds me of flying in an un-pressurized plane over Mt. Denali’s glacier in Alaska. It could be colder.

To keep warm, you have to move. I ski the dog from my backdoor into the woods. We abandon the front door and hire someone to plow our driveway. The kids desert the tree house and hollow a snow fort in the driveway pile. Only the mudroom deck and short walkway need shoveling.

On the streets the plowed snow banks grow too high. A truck-come-snow blower munches the banks and spits snow into a dump truck. A mini plow carves out the sidewalks. Snow removal is never the incapacitating problem it is in Boston or in NYC. Winter is easier if harsher in Maine. Luckily my commute is only steps away.

My home office couldn’t be better. My brother, the architect, designed the space for me around my dream desk. The Shaker style is native to Maine although the cherry desk was made in Vermont. I have a separate computer stand, but I like to edit my novel drafts on paper with a pen.

The two other important writing tools are a cup of tea and a dog. My favorite mug is one of two that matches a now broken tea pot that was a wedding gift (Elizabeth at About New York has a post on favorite tea mugs.) I drink PG Tips in the morning and Red Bush in the afternoon. The chair is an antique that my husband received for his 21st birthday. He shipped it over to the USA when he moved here from London. It made the passage safely, but I stole it.

The drawings on the walls are mine. I used to work from live models in charcoal and in oil before I moved to Maine. Now I paint watercolors from nature in the summer. My studio is the great outdoors. One day I’d like to get back to oil painting, using the watercolors as on-site sketches.

Cedar Beach, Bailey Island in July

There is no room for an easel, but otherwise my office accommodates my dual careers. I store my art supplies and books in deep shelves. It’s not custom cabinetry. Look closer. It’s more affordable kitchen cabinetry with a cherry veneer backing to make it look like an office. I like that my space is small enough that I can’t clutter it with piles of junk. It forces me to store only the stuff that I’m currently using. The desktop is usually covered with manuscript drafts and stacks of books.

Working at home, it really helps to have space to spread out without having to clear up. I can close the door to the kitchen and forget my household chores. My office gets the morning light and is on its own heat zone so the rest of the house can stay cool. From my window I can greet visitors. It’s my command and control center. I’m lucky to have a space to call my own.

Even with a warm office, “winter work” starts to sound like an oxymoron. There are snow days and sick days. My first full work week in January, my daughter was home with Strep. Sometimes the work is just surviving winter, or at least the coldest days. As the days get longer, my energy increases. The bright sun, the cloudless blue skies and the pure white snow are almost worth the chill. If I don’t have time to write, I at least think about new chapters. I’m still making progress.

Best cure for winter blues was the inauguration of our new president yesterday.  Barack Obama offered hope but no quick cures.  His sincerity and eloquence were a welcome change.  I can't imagine there were many dry eyes.  Obama will be working hard this winter in his new office.  

Blog Watch: Authors Patricia Wood, Cynthia Lord and Jane Green have all blogged about their workspaces. Pat used to write in the galley before claiming her own space on board her sailboat.   Despite having a home office, Jane prefers to write her novels at the public library or in coffee shops. Cindy also used to write in a library, at Bowdoin College, before she got an office shed.  Blogger Bee Drunken shows her antique desk in her sidebar.

What is your work/blog space like?

Nostalgic Mist

What path do you follow to your imagination? My first step is memory. These damp November days are bringing me back to England. Last week the view out of my window in Maine reflected the images inside my head.

Of course the landscape is different. Maine is wild; England (above) is pastoral. The weight of water still hangs heavy on the air. The colors were muted to grays. I looked for brightness and found it in the woods.

Is my son wearing a yellow raincoat or a mac with rain boots or wellies? Are those gold leaves of autumn or fall? Is the dog off leash or off lead?

Bloody dog! Stella ate the boy’s i-pod. Really.

I know when I’m speaking French (poorly!) or English, but somehow the line between American and British blurs. I’ve lived half my life with an Englishman and three years of that in his country. Our children use a mixed vocabulary especially since coming back from our Oxford sabbatical. Quite a few of my friends are similarly split between countries. In my sidebar you’ll find ex-pat bloggers, even though I’m not one anymore.

When writing dialogue or using first person narration, I must be true to character and that includes nationality. NOT CRICKET (A MATCH FOR EVE) is a book that will need readers to flag my transgressions. Even if the aim is to show confusion, I must not confuse the reader.


By the final draft, I’ll have cleared the fog. The first draft introduces me to the characters and follows the branches of the plot. It’s messy, but this is how the structure emerges. The weather seemed to follow my writing. The sun came back on the day I talked to my agent, Jean Naggar. She liked the sound of NOT CRICKET from my description. I won't be showing the manuscript to her until it's polished. I find revision easier than writing the first draft.

Sometimes I don’t sleep as well in this creative stage. I shut my eyes and hear the characters chatting; I dream different scenarios. I leave scribbled note-cards all over the house. There isn’t such a clear line between sleeping and waking or working and resting. Swimming laps or walking the dog is my time to plan that day’s chapter. When I sit down before my computer, I’m ready to write.

Another part of my work is creating a setting. In the first chapter I discovered that my character lives in Portland by the water. With my daughter for company, I set out last month to find inspiration. Now I’m processing it.

Eastern Prom is a park overlooking Casco Bay and backing onto a quiet, residential neighborhood. You might expect grand houses with these views, but many of the buildings are subdivided into apartments. Paint is peeling; vinyl siding is cracking.

What excuse is there for adding a brick entranceway to this old classic? My character lives in a divided house. She’s an artist who craves beauty beyond the confines of home.

My daughter suggested this house. The color is awful, but don’t you love that quirky triangular window in the attic? The haphazard modern additions attach to what must have once been a stable. My search is part real-estate and part archeology. My home will be fictional, but the neighborhood will be real. I need to set the mood, and look what street we’re on:

Portland is a small city but still the biggest in Maine with a population of 64,000. Compare that to Oxford’s 151,000. The Eastern Prom is often hidden in thick fog. I like this parallel to foggy Oxford (below), a low-lying city between two rivers.

My research expedition translated into maybe one page of my novel, but it was worth it. Now that I know where my character lives, I can imagine how it would shape her. I can see how looking across the Atlantic and north towards England, she’d long to sail free.

Blog Watch: My neighbor, author Cynthia Lord had a short but beautiful post on November. Her blog also features her husband's stunning photography. She's under author blogs in my sidebar.

New York Surprise

Last weekend I did something crazy: I flew to NYC for one night. It was my brother’s surprise 40th birthday party. He had no time to plan anything because he was on charrette. That’s when an architect works around the clock to make a deadline. Was he ever surprised to see us all!

I had to come because I remembered how hard it can be turning forty. It’s the first birthday that you stop and take stock of your life to see where you’ve been and where you’re going. It’s midlife after all.

Forty is a good excuse to celebrate. I got together with my school friends on Nantucket Island, and we had the best time ever. I also had dinner with my family and snuck off for a romantic weekend with my husband in Kennebunkport.

If I thought I was turning forty quietly, I was mistaken. I blogged about it, and that post has become very popular in Google searches. I’m the poster child of “turning forty” in images. It’s not so bad. I’m now forty forever, never aging.

I have to say a year past forty, I’m having fun. It’s been time to explore my creativity in writing and in art, to enjoy my friends and family and to make new friends through blogging. I think my brother will love his 40’s too.

My brother and I grew up in a quiet neighborhood in Manhattan with more brownstones than apartment buildings. We used to hang out with the other kids on the block without supervision. Things are different now. I don’t think NYC has gotten less safe, only that parents worry more.

I loved the freedom I had to explore the city, especially as a teenager. Plus there was no danger of drunk driving since we walked or took public transportation. We went out dancing in clubs but couldn’t afford to get drunk. We knew enough not to let any guy buy us a drink. We also went to experimental theater, sampled ethnic restaurants and explored the Village shops.

There’s so much culture and good food on your doorstep in NYC. I managed a quick visit to MoMA to see Van Gogh (crowded!) and Miro (just opened). Both shows I’d recommend although keep in mind that viewing art in NYC is a contact sport, especially on a rainy Saturday. We were luckier with the weather on Sunday.

Everyone has heard of Central Park in NYC, but Carl Schurz Park is another gem. It was my neighborhood playground. There’s a sunny boardwalk by the East River, looking out on Hell’s Gate. I love to watch the boats go by.

Space is a premium in Manhattan. The boardwalk was constructed over the FDR drive.

You wouldn’t guess this leaning on the railing.

The flowers were still blooming, looking gorgeous against the ornamental grasses. The sky can turn pure blue in autumn. The park is close to empty Sunday mornings.

Dog walkers are out early.

What I love about this park is there’s a big dog run . . .

. . . and a little dog run! Dogs otherwise must be kept leashed.

You won’t see exotic birds, but there are plenty of fat pigeons and sparrows. Yes, I’m really standing that close. I’ve seen cormorants fishing in the river.

Another park denizen is the mayor of NYC. Gracie Mansion is like a southern plantation home dropped into the city. There aren’t many wood-frame buildings left in Manhattan. I remember how sad we were to see one of the last ones torn down on our block and replaced by an ugly apartment building.

Isn’t the mayor lucky to have this as his backyard?

That footbridge spans a hidden garden.

Our leaves have fallen to the ground in Maine, but they are still golden in New York.

There are rows of benches to sit and read a book.

I needed a good travel book as a big chunk of the weekend was spent waiting in airports. My writing partner, Jane Green, had written a novel that I was longing to read. I’m writing a novel, NOT CRICKET (A MATCH FOR EVE), about Americans in England, and Jane’s Swapping Lives is about a desperate housewife in Connecticut who trades places with a hip London magazine editor. I wasn’t even tempted to pick up my usual travel staple of People Magazine; I was having that much fun. I’m 3/4 through and totally enjoying it.

Jane moved from North London to a Connecticut suburb eight years ago so she knows her turf. She parodies the language and cultural differences, but she does it in good spirit. It’s like having a chatty girlfriend entertain you. My favorite anecdote, based on a real experience, was of a suburban mom buying a nice birthday gift and discovering the same gift being passed out as a party favor to all the children!

Jane’s novel reminds me David Lodge’s Changing Places where an American and an English academic do a sabbatical year swap. Both are laugh-out-loud funny. I’ve been that fish out of water in England myself and love these stories. Do you know of any other good US/UK novels?

After doing a major restructuring of my novel last week, I’m back to writing new chapters. I’m a writer that needs to get it on paper to see it. After about 100 pages I take an appraisal. By that point, I have a good sense of where the novel is going. I don’t plan it all out ahead of time or that would spoil the suspense. I need to surprise myself as well as the reader. Writing is an exploration into possibilities.

Jane and I are into the fourth week of our writing partnership, and it’s working really well for both of us. Working in solitude, it helps to have a buddy there for encouragement. Real life can too easily take precedence over fiction. Writing a novel with Jane is like going through a pregnancy with a friend. We share the stress and the joy. It helps to know I’m not alone.

Blogging helps in that way too. Thanks to all!

This post will be part of Garden Bloggers’ Bloom Day.