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dolorosa_12I've written up a review of one of my most beloved childhood books, The Girls in the Velvet Frame, by Adèle Geras. This is a work of historical children's fiction, a meandering, gentle, emotionally affecting story of a widowed mother and her five daughters, and a beautiful portrait of life in 1913 Jerusalem. One of the things I've always loved about it is its depiction of a world and community in which Jewishness is normative — and its assumption (even though it was published by a major British publisher, and aimed at a British readership of children which was not necessarily majority Jewish) that its readership, if not Jewish, would be perfectly fine working things out from context. (Certainly that was my experience as a small non-Jewish child when I read the book for the first time.)
On top of all that, the book has one of the features of older children's fiction which I most enjoy: lots and lots of descriptions of food. It's not on the level of, say, Enid Blyton — it's more that the book takes place mainly indoors, in kitchens and around dining room tables (and one character works in a bakery), and so food preparation, and eating, tends to be happening at key points in the narrative.
It's also probably the book that set me up for a lifetime of searching for fiction which recognised that the unglamorous, unrecognised work and experiences of girls and women — the parts which didn't seem important to men, and which often went unnoticed — were, for the individuals concerned, extremely important, and worthy of being told as a story:
The Girls in the Velvet Frame is a celebration of the quiet, powerful, ordinary lives and work of girls and women: cooking, cleaning, caring for smaller children, stretching every last penny (there’s lots of discussion of hand-me-down dresses, bathing in the kitchen so as not to waste hot water, and so on). This work is at the heart of the story, and is given the dignity and primacy that it would have had (and still does have) in millions of similar women’s lives.
You can read the full review over here, at![[wordpress.com profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/1225b00cee13/-/s.wordpress.org/about/images/wpmini-blue.png)
dolorosa12. As always, I welcome discussion both here on Dreamwidth, or at the original post.
On top of all that, the book has one of the features of older children's fiction which I most enjoy: lots and lots of descriptions of food. It's not on the level of, say, Enid Blyton — it's more that the book takes place mainly indoors, in kitchens and around dining room tables (and one character works in a bakery), and so food preparation, and eating, tends to be happening at key points in the narrative.
It's also probably the book that set me up for a lifetime of searching for fiction which recognised that the unglamorous, unrecognised work and experiences of girls and women — the parts which didn't seem important to men, and which often went unnoticed — were, for the individuals concerned, extremely important, and worthy of being told as a story:
The Girls in the Velvet Frame is a celebration of the quiet, powerful, ordinary lives and work of girls and women: cooking, cleaning, caring for smaller children, stretching every last penny (there’s lots of discussion of hand-me-down dresses, bathing in the kitchen so as not to waste hot water, and so on). This work is at the heart of the story, and is given the dignity and primacy that it would have had (and still does have) in millions of similar women’s lives.
You can read the full review over here, at
dolorosa12. As always, I welcome discussion both here on Dreamwidth, or at the original post.
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Date: 2020-09-28 06:09 pm (UTC)