Hello friends,
Today the weather was blue and bright and warm enough for a picnic and a swim at the dam. The dam provides the water supply to our little town and is currently full. A full dam is a pleasing sight in a drought-prone country. Looking out over that wide dark basin, one can’t help but feel satisfied and magnanimous. Indeed, one’s instinct is to gesture at it like an opera singer. Would you look at that! Human ingenuity! Beauty! Plenty! …Water sports!
The dam is nestled in among steep wooded hills which make each nook and corner very picturesque. If you paddle around the dam in a kayak, the hills rearrange themselves around you, folds of land stepping forward and back. There is a pier for swimmers to jump off. There is a boat ramp. There is a murky, slimy surface underfoot as you wade into the water in your swimming costume. There are clots of dry needles from the she-oaks. The water is tea coloured and warm and cold in patches. During summer this spot is overrun by idiots,1 but in autumn the idiots return to their burrows and underground lairs and we – the nice and the good – take back this place, along with the birds, lizards and possums.
Which is all to say that I started the day very grouchy and cured myself with a swim. Why do I always forget about the curative effects of swimming? Here is one of my favourite descriptions of swimming from Mermaid Singing by Charmian Clift:
And now we are transformed. Our bodies, freed of their weight, float and flow in the greenish-gold, the goldish-green, the sun-dapple, the cavernous shadows. Our hair streams in the seashine, our bodies, following each other, are wet brown scrawls wavering over the weeds and the sand. We are forced to the sun-sparkling, dancing surface only by the gulping need of our gill-less bodies, and we float there gasping. But this too is wonderful — to bathe in both elements at once — the warm air and the cold sea, with little dizzy currents of warmth lapping our legs and flowing on. There is a slow soft swell coming in from the southward, and we rock and rock under that great inverted bowl of blue. Surely it must tip a little to let us see what is on the other side, there at the sharp rim of things where the oyster gap between sea and sky opens up at dawn? The soaring stones of the old baked mountains peak and fall gently along miles of angled light and out of the world of perspective and rules. Kos heaves ponderously in the corner of my vision. There is an albatross in the sky, and in my ears the low, exultant murmur of immense watery wheels turning.
And here are Rieux and Tarrou going for a swim at night in The Plague by Albert Camus (trans. Robin Buss) – a beautiful moment of near religious reprieve:
[The sea] was hissing softly at the foot of the great blocks of the jetty and as they climbed up these it appeared, thick as velvet, supple and smooth as a wild animal. They sat down on some rocks facing out to sea. The water was gently swelling and sinking back. This calm breath of the sea made oily reflections appear and disappear on the surface of the water. In front of them, the darkness was limitless. Rieux, who could feel the pitted face of the rock under his fingers, was filled with a strange happiness. Turning towards Tarrou he sensed the same happiness, which forgot nothing, not even murder, on the calm and thoughtful face of his friend.
They got undressed. Rieux was the first to dive in. The water, cold to begin with, seemed warm to him when he resurfaced. After a few strokes he realized that the sea was warm that evening with the warmth of autumn seas when they take back from the earth the heat that has been stored in it for long summer months. He swam steadily. Behind him the beating of his feet left a seething foam and the water ran the length of his arms to stick on his legs. A heavy splash told him that Tarrou had dived in. Rieux turned onto his back and stayed motionless, looking up at the bowl of the sky, full of moon and stars.
When they get out, ‘their hearts were one, and the memory of that night was sweet for both of them.’
Is that enough about swimming?
Herewith: Part 2 of my conversation with
about the screen adaptations of Pride and Prejudice. If you missed part 1 you can find it here.In part 2, we discussed the Wickham story line (much trimmed down in the 2005 movie), the actors and casting decisions, historical accuracy in each adaptation (including a few minor bloopers), and the endings.
I think it’s quite obvious, from the audio, that I was enjoying myself immensely!
And in news hot off the press, it appears that Netflix has a Pride and Prejudice adaptation in the works. Goodness!
Finally, for those of you who read To the Lighthouse with me recently,
has recently written about Lily Briscoe. Do have a look!Until very soon, Tash
The people who drink alcohol and bring barky, aggressive dogs and play loud music - who pollute the environment with their noisy carry-on.
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