The Writer’s Garden is one of the most beautiful books I have ever held in my hands. It is filled with the wonder of gardens and writers, and those coThe Writer’s Garden is one of the most beautiful books I have ever held in my hands. It is filled with the wonder of gardens and writers, and those contained here are as varied as those categories can be. After the marvelous introduction, which made me anxious to plow quickly through the contents, an impulse I had to stifle, because this is a book to take slowly and savor, I found to my delight the first garden belonged to Louisa May Alcott. It was the sole garden in the book that I have had the pleasure of seeing myself and the pictures were enchanting and awash with memories.
The succeeding gardens were each splendid, some surely more simple than others, but all testament to the sensibilities of the marvelous men and women who planted and oversaw them and eventually allowed them to inspire their souls, and perhaps their books. One of my favorites was the “secret garden” of Frances Hodgson Burnett. It is exactly as I would have imagined as a child when I was reading the book for the first time and lost in the colors and fragrances that Burnett had put into my mind. It dangles with wisteria, has twisted Japanese maple trees and bright azaleas, a heavy iron gate and beautiful stone walls that comb the slope. It is the garden I would plant if I were a gardener and the resources were mine.
I could go on and on about this book. I read the final garden entry last night, when I paid a visit to Emile Zola’s sculptured lawns in the French village of Medan. I have read the book slowly, poured over the pictures, savored the vignettes about the owners…and now, I will read it again, for gardens are surely made for not simply visiting, but revisiting.
Finally, I wish to say a heartfelt thank you to the wonderful friend who gifted me with this treasure. I can never think of a garden, an expanse of green, or a blush of roses without she will be in my mind as well. She and I share the love of both the beauty of nature and the beauty of a masterfully written book; this book is a homage to both of those things, and a work of art in itself. The only thing better than this would be the chance to sit in one of these gardens together and share our afternoon tea. ...more
Presented in the form of diary entries, Elizabeth and Her German Garden is a delightful exercise in perfect prose description and perfunctory humor. TPresented in the form of diary entries, Elizabeth and Her German Garden is a delightful exercise in perfect prose description and perfunctory humor. The almost mocking remarks (mocking of both self and others) come across as so natural as to make you feel you are sitting in the garden and Elizabeth is holding conversation with you.
I was having a great deal of difficulty thinking how to convey how delicious this book is, and then it occurred to me that Elizabeth could do a much better job than I…so
The people round about are persuaded that I am, to put it as kindly as possible, exceedingly eccentric, for the news has travelled that I spend the day out of doors with a book, and that no mortal eye has ever yet seen me sew or cook. But why cook when you can get some one to cook for you?
“I enjoyed the winter immensely,” I persisted when they were a little quieter; “I sleighed and skated, and then there were the children, and shelves and shelves full of” I was going to say books, but stopped. Reading is an occupation for men; for women it is a reprehensible waste of time.
A woman’s tongue is a deadly weapon and the most difficult thing in the world to keep in order, and things slip off it with a facility nothing short of appalling at the very moment when it ought to be most quiet.
What a comfort it is to have such wells of wisdom constantly at my disposal! Anybody can have a husband, but to few is it given to have a sage, and the combination of both is as rare as it is useful.
It is much easier, and often more pleasant, to be a warning than an example, and governesses are but women, and women are sometimes foolish, and when you want to be foolish it must be annoying to have to be wise.
I certainly prefer buying new rose-trees to new dresses, if I cannot comfortably have both; and I see a time coming when the passion for my garden will have taken such a hold on me that I shall not only entirely cease buying more clothes, but begin to sell those that I already have.
It seems so greedy to have so much loveliness to oneself–but kindred spirits are so very, very rare; I might almost as well cry for the moon.
Elizabeth Von Arnim is a kindred spirit. Don't miss her....more
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