Maeve Binchy
Aug. 6th, 2012 09:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
therealsnapeEver since I read the news of Maeve Binchy's death earlier this week I've wanted to post on it. And today ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellychambliss ranted on a piece of writing so utterly insulting that it finally galvanised me into action. The author of this Guardian article claimed that Binchy (or any childless woman) couldn't write the whole gamut of emotions because she'd never given birth. Austen, too, this nutter states, would have written much better novels, had she had children ...
Well, damn.
Maeve Binchy was, quite simply, a master at her craft. She could write complex, fully-characterised short stories. She had an enormous ability to draw readers into the tale from line one, and to create three-dimensional, likeable, thoroughly human characters. She has been my ultimate example for writing my own characters, and if I ever manage anything half as good I'll be damn lucky. And, unlike me, Binchy invented hers, instead of merely giving a twist to others' stories.
She also managed to pull off brilliant narrative feats. She has written several long novels in which the story is told from the POV of each of the main characters in turn (with casts of seven or eight people), in which each part doesn't just give a full and believable backstory of that character but also advances the main storyline. And without plotholes - she must have had a cross-reference sheet stating exactly where each character is at each moment. Evening Class is a great example.
And her characters are so real that you'll be pleased to see some of them return in other novels - it's like running into old friends. Ah, so that happened to Signora, and how lovely to see that Rita and that nice chap from the restaurant end up together.
The author of the ludicrous article Kelly ranted on ended her vulture-job with the following bit of idiocy:
Yet putting yourself last is one of the best things that can happen to a writer. I make no moral claims for motherhood — which can bring out the worst in a person, in the form of vicarious rivalry, bitchiness, envy and even mental illness — but going through the ring of fire does change you and bring about a deeper understanding of human nature.
Binchy, whose first novel was about a 20-year friendship between two women, didn’t need the experience of motherhood to write about love and friendship in a way that charmed millions. But she might have dug deeper, charming less but enlightening more, had she done so.
Binchy (who was, indeed, infertile and never adopted) had a long and exceedingly happy marriage. So she never went throught the ring of fire that is coming out as a lesbian (in Victoria Line/Central line, a collection of short stories also published as London Transport), having an abortion, living as 'the mistress' for several decades, leaving your wife for a mistress, losing a child in a motor-accident, or finding out unexpectedly that you've fathered a child. She wasn't a nun, or paralysed, or a young gang-member. And she probably wasn't a shop-lifter either, but then, she describes so well how to be succesful at it, she'd never have been found out.
Yet she managed to write compellingly-believable stories on all of these characters and situations. You could say that if you dig any deeper than Binchy, you'd end up in Australia. And indeed, she's written a book of Christmas stories that have some marvellous tales of Christmas with sun, beaches, and barbecues. Feather, you'll love those, if you don't know them yet. Check out This Year It Will Be Different.
Maeve Binchy sold over 40 million copies during her lifetime. There'll always be the odd dissatisfied customer, but that still makes an unimaginable amount of hours of enjoyment for her many readers who looked forward to curling up with the latest book, a full-bodied red or a steaming mug of tea to hand, in the safe knowledge that the evening ahead will be a thorougly pleasant one.
There aren't many people who have contributed quite that much to the sum of human happiness.
kellychambliss ranted on a piece of writing so utterly insulting that it finally galvanised me into action. The author of this Guardian article claimed that Binchy (or any childless woman) couldn't write the whole gamut of emotions because she'd never given birth. Austen, too, this nutter states, would have written much better novels, had she had children ...Well, damn.
Maeve Binchy was, quite simply, a master at her craft. She could write complex, fully-characterised short stories. She had an enormous ability to draw readers into the tale from line one, and to create three-dimensional, likeable, thoroughly human characters. She has been my ultimate example for writing my own characters, and if I ever manage anything half as good I'll be damn lucky. And, unlike me, Binchy invented hers, instead of merely giving a twist to others' stories.
She also managed to pull off brilliant narrative feats. She has written several long novels in which the story is told from the POV of each of the main characters in turn (with casts of seven or eight people), in which each part doesn't just give a full and believable backstory of that character but also advances the main storyline. And without plotholes - she must have had a cross-reference sheet stating exactly where each character is at each moment. Evening Class is a great example.
And her characters are so real that you'll be pleased to see some of them return in other novels - it's like running into old friends. Ah, so that happened to Signora, and how lovely to see that Rita and that nice chap from the restaurant end up together.
The author of the ludicrous article Kelly ranted on ended her vulture-job with the following bit of idiocy:
Yet putting yourself last is one of the best things that can happen to a writer. I make no moral claims for motherhood — which can bring out the worst in a person, in the form of vicarious rivalry, bitchiness, envy and even mental illness — but going through the ring of fire does change you and bring about a deeper understanding of human nature.
Binchy, whose first novel was about a 20-year friendship between two women, didn’t need the experience of motherhood to write about love and friendship in a way that charmed millions. But she might have dug deeper, charming less but enlightening more, had she done so.
Binchy (who was, indeed, infertile and never adopted) had a long and exceedingly happy marriage. So she never went throught the ring of fire that is coming out as a lesbian (in Victoria Line/Central line, a collection of short stories also published as London Transport), having an abortion, living as 'the mistress' for several decades, leaving your wife for a mistress, losing a child in a motor-accident, or finding out unexpectedly that you've fathered a child. She wasn't a nun, or paralysed, or a young gang-member. And she probably wasn't a shop-lifter either, but then, she describes so well how to be succesful at it, she'd never have been found out.
Yet she managed to write compellingly-believable stories on all of these characters and situations. You could say that if you dig any deeper than Binchy, you'd end up in Australia. And indeed, she's written a book of Christmas stories that have some marvellous tales of Christmas with sun, beaches, and barbecues. Feather, you'll love those, if you don't know them yet. Check out This Year It Will Be Different.
Maeve Binchy sold over 40 million copies during her lifetime. There'll always be the odd dissatisfied customer, but that still makes an unimaginable amount of hours of enjoyment for her many readers who looked forward to curling up with the latest book, a full-bodied red or a steaming mug of tea to hand, in the safe knowledge that the evening ahead will be a thorougly pleasant one.
There aren't many people who have contributed quite that much to the sum of human happiness.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-06 08:15 pm (UTC)If this isn't going to get me read her books, I don't know what will.
Thanks for the rec!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:34 pm (UTC)I
(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-06 08:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-06 08:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-06 08:44 pm (UTC)Thank you for the rec!
(And ugh, I'm not even going to open the can of worms that is my thoughts on such an article.)
(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-06 09:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-06 09:32 pm (UTC)I don't even know where to begin shaking my head about that article - ludicrous, indeed, and so stupid. Particularly this phrase caught my eye:
But she might have dug deeper, charming less but enlightening more, had she done so.
What kind of a stupid argument is that? Are we back in the good 'ole days of missionaries, believing themselves the summit of creation and the one and only spring of wisdom, and telling the stoopid savages how to cultivate their lands, raise their kids, and have sex?
Of course she could (because she has, indeed, had the ability). But why should she? A dear and very wise of my old professors (in Art History) once answered to the question where art comes from/why it exists (sorry for the rough translation) "Art doesn't exists because the artist has the ability, but because he has the need to create." I was present when he said that, and in the following discussion he made clear that nobody but the artist himself has the right to judge about the value of his creation, and of the amount of potential used in it.
I don't know enough about Ms. Binchy to know if she did exactly what she wanted, or if she wanted something else and didn't do it for whatever reason. But the books I read, combined with your thoughtful words, gives me the feeling that indeed, she did exactly what she wanted, and she loved it.
I've read the article earlier in the evening, and one thought keeps popping up whenever I read "arguments" like these: what about those women like me, who would have loved to have children, but couldn't?
Shall we consider ourselves disabled then, in some way, because (according to these kinds of arguments) we would have liked to have kids, but aren't able to? Are we lesser women? Are we less worth?
Considering the train of arguments, we probably are in the eyes of people like these...
(And just for the record: my reasons for wanting children are not even touching the ones I ever heard mentioned by people like this author, nor do I think in any way that a woman needs to have gone through this or other experiences for whatever reason.)
Finally, a funny thought entered my mind: what would this author say about all those great fanfic authors writing about things they never could have experienced, for simple biological reasons? Like female authors writing male slash, or writing about male pregnancy - or, gasp, somebody writing about MAGIC! ;o)
I can only assume that this author, who is a writer herself, as I understand it, is only able to write about things she has experienced herself. More's the pity.
/rant
(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:28 pm (UTC)I think I love you for that!♥
(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-06 09:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-06 11:29 pm (UTC)QED.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-06 11:53 pm (UTC)Game, set, and match.
L
(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-07 12:01 am (UTC)Perhaps the "Self-righteous Hippocrite's Guide to Womanhood".
Obviously, I need to commit Sepoku.
L
(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-07 02:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-07 08:58 am (UTC)As for the argument in question, it seems so very old: should someone be blind to write about a blind character? And so how could we write about magic, elves and dragons? It is absurd, because one of the merits of writing is to let the readers see things that don't exist in reality. And if someone can write about creatures that don't actuall exists, even more they can write about human emotions. Even if a person isn't a mother, they had a mother and saw mothers all around, so the thesis is preposterous.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-08 08:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-08-10 01:10 pm (UTC)