Susan Borden 9/1/21 Susan Borden 9/1/21

Purple Yarn

Claire is not me, but there is a lot of me in Claire.

SPOILER ALERT: This essay refers to a major plot development that happens near the end of Clockwise. Please read the book first! If you don’t, a highly irritable ghost will come to haunt you.

My writer friend Heidi and I occasionally talk about the purple yarn in our work, meaning the strands from our real lives that find their way into our respective stories and novels. The phrase “purple yarn” comes from something I witnessed years ago and will always remember: a red squirrel bundling up pieces of soft wool that I had set out for the birds in March and bounding off for her home tree. I have no doubt that her babies had the softest nest in the neighborhood, with my yarn woven in among the grass and twigs. I think that purple yarn is common in fiction; however, being a first-time novelist, I probably included more of it in Clockwise than is typical. Like Claire, I was a college English instructor for many years, I live in a bungalow, and I love animals. Claire is not me, but there is a lot of me in Claire.

The similarities don’t end with our basic life situations. As I was writing the book, I was fascinated to see how some of my own experiences presented themselves as transformed parts of the plot, seeming to say, “Choose me, choose me!”

An example of this is the central role the cuckoo clock plays in the book. My husband and I actually owned two Black Forest clocks before I even thought of writing a novel, yet neither of them was right for the starring role in my book. I wanted a clock that was really unusual, one that people would respond to with surprise: “Wow, I’ve never seen a cuckoo clock like that before!” I spent quite a bit of time perusing websites where photos of these German-made clocks are displayed, and I saw a lot of beautiful clocks, from tiny ones meant for nurseries to elaborate ones that seemed best suited for the great room of a castle. The clock that I eventually settled on had three owls perched on a branch above the dial and two different types of song birds positioned on either side of the clock’s front surface. Happily, I dived into writing with that clock in mind.

A problem soon arose. I couldn’t keep the owl clock in the realm of fiction! I knew that it was for sale, and I wanted it—wanted it intensely. Finally, I broke down and ordered it from Germany, telling myself that I would hang it in the study where I was writing and that it would be my muse. My anticipation was intense. I awaited the clock’s arrival. And waited. Each day, the front steps remained empty. The last day of the proposed delivery came and went, with no clock. I gave it another day for good measure and then accessed the tracking information to see which stage of its journey the package containing the clock currently was on.

My blood ran cold. According to the tracking information, the clock had been delivered two days earlier.

Long story short, the US postal carrier had brought the package when I had been away from home all day doing volunteer work. The package was insured and required the recipient to sign; if no one were available to do this, the carrier was supposed to take the package back to the post office and keep it there until I could pick it up. Instead, he had forged a scrawling signature and left this large cardboard box with its distinctive customs’ stickers on the front steps.

You can guess the rest. The package had been stolen, leaving me feeling desolate, violated, and very, very angry.

My original clock was never recovered nor the thief identified. After a long period of communication between postal employees, the owner of the shop in Germany, and me, I received a second owl clock. It was beautiful, fulfilling all of my expectations. I hung it in the study, as planned. And eventually, I translated this real-life experience of theft and loss for Claire’s story. That process salved the wound caused by someone stealing my original, beloved German cuckoo clock.

I love that fiction writers weave their own life experiences into those of their characters. Purple is a rich, vibrant color, don’t you agree?

Susan Borden 8/27/20 Susan Borden 8/27/20

No Fair

No doubt about it, the State Fair is an epidemiologist’s nightmare. But I will miss it terribly.

The 2020 Minnesota State Fair has been canceled due to COVID-19, the sixth time in the fair’s one hundred-year history that this choice has been made. I expected the cancelation and strongly believe that the fair officials made the right call.

Then why do I feel so sad?

My depiction of the State Fair in Clockwise is as accurate as I could make it. Yes, over 118,000 people commonly attend on a weekday. The river of people that I describe is a reality. People are shoulder to shoulder in that river almost the entire day, and many fair-goers attend multiple days. Some people come every single day for the entire twelve-day run. They lean in to share food, and they eat it with hands that are, to put it gently, not freshly washed. The drinking fountains flow from one thirsty sipper to another. People pack into the buildings to witness calves being born, the field corn being judged, the Butter Princesses being carved. In the aptly named Food Building, the line for deep-fried cheese curds snakes back and forth onto itself, so that newly-entered people bump elbows with those far ahead of them in the quest for curds. Huge electric fans are ineffective in circulating the air in the Fine Arts building, where the juried art show is held, to the rapt interest of many.

No doubt about it, the State Fair is an epidemiologist’s nightmare.

But I will miss it terribly.

The fair is an explosion of color that signals the beginning of fall for me. The temperature may be close to a hundred, yet the exhibit halls are full to bursting with harvest fare as well as with people. The one exhibit that I never, ever miss is the one devoted to giant pumpkins. These behemoths are dun-colored, blaze orange, and sherbet gold, and they typically weigh in at least eight hundred pounds each, some over a thousand. The ribbons they proudly bear on their polished sides are black and orange, giving me a delightful hint of Halloween in late August. They share a room in the Agriculture Building with butternut squash, sweet corn, pie pumpkins, broccoli, potatoes, and more. That room is a cornucopia of autumn goodness that will soon magically appear in the local farmers’ markets, as well. I look carefully at every display and think to myself, happily, “Bring it.”

Not everyone agrees with me about the fair’s appeal, needless to say. Twin Citizens and Greater Minnesotans alike can be divided into two camps: fair people and non-fair people. I know quite a few folks who share Greg Bracken’s disdain for the heat, the crowds, the smells, and the deep-fried food; they can’t be dragged to the fairgrounds. Yet everyone knows about the fair and most like to talk about it, whether they themselves enjoy going or not. I’ve had people ask me if I’m planning to attend and then tell me vociferously why they are staying away. Love it or loathe it, the State Fair is a fact of life in Minnesota that we all must recognize. It is as much fun to knock as it is to embrace.

The slogan of the fair, “The Great Minnesota Get-Together,” is an apt description. I love seeing people of all ages and ethnic backgrounds there, from 4-H kids in immaculate white shirts showing their lambs, to grandparents sharing their ice cream with sticky toddlers, to dating couples shyly holding each other’s sweaty hands. City-dwellers, suburbanites, and rural denizens spend more time mingling on the fairgrounds than they do at any other time of year. And really, who wouldn’t want to see a litter of newborn piglets, a Ferris Wheel showing its sharp colors against the evening sky, or a team of Clydesdales high-stepping down the parade route? We’re all in the fair together. And during this summer of murder, protests, tears, and demonstrations, we could’ve benefitted from a positive shared event, frankly. COVID has robbed us of so much, including a chance to throw ourselves into the exhausting, extreme, exhilarating, extraordinary, ordinary, sensational experiences that bring us together during those twelve days.

I hope that next year will be better. There must be a platter of Australian Battered Potatoes in my future.

Susan Borden 7/14/20 Susan Borden 7/14/20

Phantoms on Film

I’ve been fascinated by ghosts all my life, and yet I’m also the biggest scaredy-cat ever.

*A few DVDs for a dark and stormy night.*

I’ve been fascinated by ghosts all my life, and yet I’m also the biggest scaredy-cat ever. This means that I have never seen The Shining, The Exorcist, or It and can promise you that I never will. Instead of terror, I look for the delicious spookiness that comes from gentle hauntings, and over the years, I’ve built up a fairly extensive DVD library of this type of film, which I plan to share with you here. I’m going to skip over movies that you have probably already seen, like Ghost and The Sixth Sense. I hope you enjoy the movies on my list.

The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, 1947. This is one of my all-time favorite films of any genre; I watch it several times a year, at least. Directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz and filmed in subtle black and white, it tells the story of an Edwardian widow named Lucy (Gene Tierney) who breaks away from her controlling in-laws by renting a seaside house that was previously owned by Daniel Gregg (Rex Harrison), a sea captain who reportedly committed suicide in the house. Lucy’s young daughter Anna (Natalie Wood) and maid Martha (Edna Best) happily accompany her, and all three settle into the intriguing cliff house that first day. By bedtime, Captain Gregg has made his presence felt, but only to Lucy. Their early prickly relationship deepens over the course of the film, as Daniel and Lucy become partners of a sort, building a relationship that is both pragmatic and romantic. The ghost and Mrs. Muir find that they need each other.

I’ve wondered if the theme of the dead still being present in their best-loved homes and making strong connections with the living made this film especially appealing to a 1947 audience that had lost so many and so much in World War II. Charles Lang’s moody cinematography, Bernard Hermann’s haunting score, and the gorgeous seaside locations all add to the charm and emotional weight of this movie.

Truly Madly Deeply, 1990. This British film was written and directed by Anthony Minghella (The English Patient, The Talented Mr. Ripley) and shot in twenty-eight days. Spanish language interpreter Nina (Juliet Stevenson) is inconsolable months after the sudden death of her cellist lover, Jamie (Alan Rickman). And then one day, Jamie is back, in his former body, able to embrace Nina but always searching for extra blankets because he is so cold. Nina is ecstatic and withdraws from her work, family, and friends to spend every moment with Jamie. Yet the question of how one builds a life with a ghost intrudes more and more into Nina’s mind, as Jamie’s lay-about ghost friends show up in Nina’s apartment to watch videos with their pal. Why, exactly, has Jamie returned?

I would not recommend this movie if you have recently suffered bereavement yourself. The scene of Nina sobbing while meeting with her therapist is one of the rawest and most affecting presentations of grief that I’ve seen in a movie, and the reunion of Nina and Jamie is almost unbearably poignant. I, myself, haven’t watched Truly Madly Deeply since Alan Rickman passed; that might affect my reaction to this positive movie whose motto might be, “Life is for the living.” For me personally, Truly Madly Deeply brings back memories of seeing Juliet Stevenson and Alan Rickman acting together on stage in As You Like It in 1985. Wow.

From Time to Time, 2009. Directed by Julian Fellowes of Downton Abbey fame. Screenplay by Fellowes, based on The Chimneys of Green Knowe by Lucy M. Boston. Thirteen-year-old Tolly (Alex Etel) is sent to stay with his grandmother (Maggie Smith) while his mother searches for information about his father, who is missing in action. The year is 1944, and the grandmother’s house, Green Knowe, is very old, very dilapidated, and very haunted. In some of his supernatural encounters, Tolly can speak with ghosts, while in others, he witnesses scenes from his ancestors’ lives in the early 1800s that provide information about the family’s strained relationships as well as clues about the long-ago theft of valuable jewels. This movie blends time travel with hauntings, never letting the viewer forget about Tolly’s worries in his own time: the grandmother’s inability to afford Green Knowe any longer, the past strife between Tolly’s parents and Granny, and, most of all, the unknown fate of his father.

Director and screenwriter Julian Fellowes “cast” Athelhampton Hall in Dorset as Green Knowe, and the fifteenth-century stone house certainly has a lot of character, appearing in shades of silvery blue in 1944 and warm gold in 1808. The past is not a kind place, however, and Tolly must watch cruelty and prejudice in the treatment of friends Susan (Eliza Bennett), who has been blind from birth, and Jacob (Kwayedza Kureya), who escaped slavery in the U.S. by stowing away on a ship bound for England. Ultimately, Tolly’s understanding of Green Knowe’s many inhabitants weaves the past and the present together.

Jacob is the hero of the 1808 narrative, a smart, resourceful, and brave young man. However, viewers don’t learn much about his response to being “given” to Susan as a companion—a serious weakness in the film, I think. In his later movie Gosford Park, Fellowes explores the themes of power, servitude, and class, giving the characters opportunities to speak about their roles as servants to the wealthy, but in From Time to Time, Jacob’s exploitation is presented without that commentary. We see him making the best of an abusive situation but, unfortunately, don’t hear his reaction to it. A scene between Jacob and Susan in which they talk about the limitations that other people have put on their lives would’ve been so helpful.

This film has a strong supporting cast that includes Hugh Bonneville, Timothy Spall, and Pauline Collins.

Movies that are notable for a stand-out performance:

Topper, 1941. Starring Cary Grant and Constance Bennett, this black-and-white screwball comedy tells the tale of a pair of carefree socialites, killed in an accident, who stick around our world for a time in order to teach their earnest banker, Cosmo Topper, how to loosen up and enjoy his days on Earth. I find the tropes of the controlling wife leaching the pleasure out of her husband’s days and of binge drinking bringing spontaneity to life quite tiresome. Still, Roland Young’s performance as Topper is first-class, especially in the scenes when the invisible ghosts are carrying him around and manipulating his inert body—of course, Young is responsible for most of these contortions. The trick photography in Topper holds up well, and I enjoy the clip in which the invisible ghosts straighten Topper’s clothing and comb his hair back in an effort to improve his appearance for the judge who is hearing charges against him—while the judge is watching. Look for Hoagy Carmichael, composer of the classic tunes “Georgia on My Mind,” “Stardust,” and “Heart and Soul,” playing himself in an early sequence. Directed by Norman Z. McLeod.

Blithe Spirit, 1945. Based on the play by Noel Coward and directed by David Lean, Blithe Spirit centers on three remarkably dislikeable people: writer Charles (Rex Harrison again), his second wife, Ruth (Kay Hammond), and his first wife, Elvira (Constance Cummings), a ghost who is summoned back during a séance that Charles has arranged in order to research his next book. Charles can see Elvira, Ruth cannot, and acidic misunderstandings and cross-conversations ensue. Blithe Spirit is saved, in my opinion, by the character of the medium who conducts the séance, Madame Arcati, played here by the inimitable British actor Margaret Rutherford. The love that Madame Arcati has for her profession, her utter delight in having actually conjured up a ghost at last, her joi-de-vivre, and her fondness for sandwiches and bicycling are truly charming. I wish the entire play (and movie) were about her. By the way, if you have seen the play but not this filmed version of Blithe Spirit, you’re in for a surprise or two, which I wouldn’t dream of spoiling.

The Canterville Ghost, 1996. There have been at least six filmed versions of Oscar Wilde’s short story that I’m aware of, with Charles Laughton, Richard Kiley, John Gielgud, Ian Richardson, David Niven, and Patrick Stewart in the title role of Sir Simon de Canterville, the ghost who has been haunting his ancestral home in England for three hundred years. I wish I could say that I’ve seen them all; unfortunately, several versions are quite hard to track down these days. The 1996 film (a Hallmark production) stars Patrick Stewart of Star Trek fame as the ghost and Neve Campbell as Ginny Otis, the young American who takes pity on him and endeavors to break the curse that resulted from his terrible crime. Stewart, with his piercing eyes and limber voice, conveys very well the agonized guilt, remorse, and loneliness of Simon de Canterville, and Neve Campbell makes the gradual acceptance and eventual embrace of her new life in England believable.

Ghosts and movies complement each other perfectly in my view. The performances are all in the past, yet they still exist in the movies, conjured up by us once again for a dark and stormy night’s entertainment.

Susan Borden 6/8/20 Susan Borden 6/8/20

Sleepy Hollow Happenings

Sleepy Hollow, New York, is not only a real place, it’s a glorious place, a place steeped in history, mystery, and Halloween. My kind of place.

Note: I wrote this essay before COVID-19 began its ominous spread around the world. Now, the events of last autumn in Sleepy Hollow seem surreal. We actually attended performances and exhibitions with tens, hundreds, and thousands of people packed together? I hope that someday soon, we will be able to gather safely again to celebrate the times of our lives together.

*This bold sign welcomes visitors to the home of Halloween.*

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Like Claire, I suffer from migraines. Luckily, mine are far less frequent and painful than hers, but I am still incapacitated by them for an hour or more. For me, the best course of action during a migraine is inaction. I lie on the couch in the living room, lights off, and listen to Audible stories with my eyes closed. One of my favorite migraine stories is Washington Irving’s “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,”* read by mellow-voiced B. J. Harrison. I love the rich, rambling descriptions of the autumnal New York countryside, the astounding array of food offered at the Van Tassels’ harvest party, and the cozy firesides by which Ichabod exchanges ghost stories with the “old wives.” I also love the ambiguous ending, which leaves to listeners the question of whether they have just heard about a jealous prank or a supernatural occurrence. Even if my migraine is a doozy, I always feel better in my soul after hearing this story.

“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” led me to a wonderful travel experience recently. I got up from the couch one late summer day in 2018 thinking, “Is Sleepy Hollow a real place? I think it might be!” A quick Internet search uncovered a flock of images that clinched my query: an old stone church with wafer-like gravestones, corn shocks bordering a rustic “welcome” sign, and, best of all, a black-cloaked rider tearing along a golden path on a powerful black horse, holding a pumpkin while lacking a head. Sleepy Hollow, New York, is not only a real place, it’s a glorious place, a place steeped in history, mystery, and Halloween. My kind of place.

In October of the following year, my husband, Pete, and I visited the Adirondack Mountains and then Sleepy Hollow, spending five days in the latter location. This trip was a dream come true for me, yet the dream was one that I didn’t know had a basis in reality until I launched an Internet search after hearing the story through a migraine-addled brain.

That dream has its roots in my deep love of autumn and of Halloween. Sleepy Hollow is the epicenter of Halloween as far as I’m concerned!

*It’s always time for jack-o’-lanterns in Sleepy Hollow, New York.*

I could hardly contain my delight as we explored the downtown during a fundraiser fair in support of the local fire department. The streets of Sleepy Hollow have names like Van Tassel Place and Crane Avenue, and the streets signs themselves are orange and black, with a silhouette of the Headless One stamped in metal after the name. Year-round, a sculpture of a cocked, grinning jack-o’-lantern head, its interior smudged as if from a candle flame, keeps vigil under an old-fashioned clock with four faces. The ambulances and firetrucks are painted with images of Ichabod and his nemesis, and there’s a dedicated parking place in front of the firehouse for the H. H., as I began to think of the Headless Horseman while visiting Sleepy Hollow. (I suppose he would tie his horse there.) The high school athletic teams are called the Horsemen and Horsemen Girls. What Halloween fan or Irving admirer wouldn’t love these fanciful, fond choices?

But it was the autumn events that really sparked my attraction to Sleepy Hollow. Many of these are sponsored by Historic Hudson Valley, a non-profit organization, and if you plan to visit the area, I highly recommend joining by early summertime for a fall trip. Membership for us included free tickets to several properties and events and the chance to buy other desirable tickets early and at reduced rates. Plus, that membership card in my wallet gave me a comfortable sense of connection to the mild, mellow Hudson Valley long before I ever arrived.

Since no one wants to hear every detail of another person’s trip, I’m going to write about just a few of the highlights.

*Festive decorations adorn the family plot of the Irvings.*

Nighttime walking tour of Sleepy Hollow Cemetery: This beautiful, hilly cemetery in Tarrytown, just north of the town of Sleepy Hollow, is very popular with visitors at all times but especially in the fall. (Only a few guided tours are held during the winter months, but you’re free to explore year-round on your own during the daylight hours.) We chose to take the traditional tour rather than the one named “Murder and Mayhem,” the description of which sounded a bit lurid to us. Surprisingly, there is no ghost tour of this burial ground. Walking in a storied, centuries-old cemetery on a misty October evening; viewing the graves in the swinging light of kerosene lanterns; and listening to the tales of love, redemption, and revenge told by a well-versed tour guide, I felt that the Sleepy Hollow atmosphere was creeping into me via the soles of my damp boots. Astors, Carnegies, Hamiltons, and Rockefellers abide here, along with Washington Irving himself. His grave in the Irving Family Graveplot is situated safely behind a locked gate due to the past inclination of visitors to chip off a piece of his headstone as a souvenir. I was charmed to see a bronze-colored mum plant, bales of straw, corn shocks, white and orange pumpkins, and a flickering jack-o’-lantern arranged before the Irving gate. Visitors were honoring the author in a way that I’m sure he would appreciate.

*This sea dragon is made of dozens of hand-carved jacks.*

Jack-o’-Lantern Blaze: This event, which is sponsored by Historic Hudson Valley, is held in Croton-on-Hudson nearly every night in October, plus weekends in late September and throughout November. Be sure to buy your tickets well ahead of time because this event consistently sells out, and for good reason—it’s amazing! Ten thousand carved, illuminated pumpkins are fitted into rebar-like frames to make elaborate glowing statues and structures. We saw the Tappen See Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, a carousel with skeletal horses, an undulating sea dragon, a trotting Pegasus, an enormous spider’s web in front of a field of spinners, life-sized dinosaurs of all stripes, and, of course, the Headless Horseman Bridge, complete with the chilling sounds effects of hoofbeats and whinnies. And that’s just a partial list! The Blaze is a glorious, over-the-top, mind-bending paean to that most festive of Halloween decorations, the jack-o’-lantern. Lying in bed that night, I saw constellations of swooping, beaming jacks whenever I closed my eyes.

*The Headless Horseman makes an unexpected appearance after the performance of Irving’s “Legend” at the Old Dutch Church.*

Irving’s “Legend”: Another Historic Hudson Valley production, and another event that shouldn’t be missed—buy your tickets online, ahead of time! Irving’s “Legend” is a performance of the spooky tale by a single storyteller; his only accompaniment are tunes played on the mandolin by a costumed musician. The setting for this performance is the Old Dutch Church, a prominent element of the original story’s climax, as Ichabod Crane races on his borrowed horse to reach the safety of the nearby stream with the Headless Horseman in menacing pursuit. The church is decorated with carved pumpkins, Indian corn, and flickering candles, and the audience sits on carved church pews, listening with growing excitement, fear, and uncertainty as the storyteller spins his two-hundred-year-old spell for children and former children, who feel like children again for a time.

I first experienced “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” through words spoken rather than read. Although I bought two separate editions of Irving’s stories and essays on our trip, I still have never read his “Legend.” Instead, I’ve settled on the couch with my husband and cat in front of a snapping fire, turned out the electric lights, and listened once again to the marvelous tale of Ichabod Crane and his haunting experiences in dream-like Sleepy Hollow, on the blue banks of the Hudson.

* “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” was first published in 1819. Several descriptive paragraphs contain stereotypes of that era. Most modern readers will be uncomfortable with these.