The Tuesday Tip - The Absence of Things

At Art College I remember we did the lovely standard exercise where we drew the spaces around an object. This then revealed the object more clearly than drawing the outline of the thing itself, precisely because it by-passed the preconceptions we might already have about the object's shape. The Chinese philosophers and Zen calligraphers urge us to pay attention to what is missing,

Thirty spokes on a cartwheel
Go towards the hub that is the centre
- but look, there is nothing at the centre
and that is precisely why it works!

If you mould a cup you have to make a hollow:
It is the emptiness within it that makes it useful.

In a house or room it is the empty spaces
-the doors, the windows that make it useable.

They all use what they are made of
to do what they do,

but without their nothingness they would be nothing.

Tao Te Ching - Man-Ho Kwok, Jay Ramsay, Martin Palmer Translation.

Sometimes it is more effective to describe something in terms of what is not there than in terms of what is. A setting could be described in terms of what is not there instead of what is. This is particularly effective with describing characters too; what is missing from their personalities can be what makes them what they are. Describing what is absent taps into the lack that lies at the heart of us, and so draws the reader in.

A greener clean

When I was researching The Lady's Slipper I came across a reference to people cleaning pewter in the 17th century with Goosegrass. The plant was apparently very common in this area, and used in vast quantities. Try as I might I could not see much of it in the hedgerows and concluded it must sadly be rarer now in these parts than it was back then - until just this week.

I have inherited a beautiful garden from the previous owners of my house, full of beautiful tulips and apple blossom. We have had sunny weather the last few weeks so I have taken to weeding. And which is the most common weed in my garden? Yes, Goosegrass. It's everywhere, and as fast as I pull it up, the more of it sprouts.

We recently found an old pewter tankard in the loft which I wanted to keep out on display as it lists all the Kings and Queens of England from Alfred the Great (871 - 904) right up to Elizabeth II (1952 -) -nearly 60 of them! It was looking a bit old and tarnished so I thought I'd better try out the pewter polishing the old way. So here is a picture of the tankard before.......and after! The 17th century folk must have been at it for hours, because I polished quite vigorously and I have to say the Goosegrass didn't do much except disintegrate and make my fingers green. I can imagine Ella the maid's frustration at the amount of effort this might take!

It did give me an interesting sense of how much longer people must have taken over their daily chores though in those days, and led me to take a little more time in peeling the potatoes today by taking the whole bowl into the garden so I could take my time and enjoy the view - rampant Goosegrass and all.

You might know goosegrass by another name  - Cleavers, Clithers, Robin run-in-the-grass, Burweed, Loveman, Mutton chops, Clite, Clide, Clitheren, and Goosebill, from the sharp, serrated leaves, like the rough-edged mandibles of a goose. In the 19th century Goosegrass used to be known by the nickname of Beggar's lice, from clinging closely to the garments of passers by and because the small burs resemble these creatures. It is also known to some as Harriff, or, Erriff, from the Anglo-Saxon "hedge rife," a taxgather, or robber, because it plucks the wool from the sheep as they pass too. 

Below - cleaning pots and pans in 17th century Holland - can't spot any Goosegrass here, and they both look quite cheerful, in fact the woman on the right looks like she might be singing as she works. Notice the fine ladies in the backgound, gossiping away whilst the work goes on.

The bookshop from heaven

Welcome SheWriters from the blog hop.

I have recently moved house to a lovely historic village, and our nearest small town is only five minutes drive away. Having spent a few weeks heaving boxes of books and then trying to find shelf-space for them all, I vowed to buy less books.

No sooner had I said this than I went to the supermarket in our local town and almost next door was this  - Aargh! the lovely Carnforth bookshop with its 14 higgledy-piggledy rooms of 100,000 second hand books! As you can see, the door is wide open, and who could resist? When I got inside I found there is coffee on the boil and a downstairs section with new books. You can even buy the gift-wrap and cards if you want to buy a book as a present, or for the musical - indulge in reams of sheet music.

Needless to say, I was in there more than an hour (the appropriate for Lent idea of "shall I try giving up buying books" forgotten) and I came out with three books. As an antidote to internet buying, it is a true bookaholic's browsing experience. Particularly delightful is a room of hardback fiction all at £1.

Though I have to say the writer in me is reluctant to buy second hand as I know how much work goes into a book and how the royalties from it stack up, but I forgive the Carnforth bookshop as it has a very good section of new fiction that you come to first before going upstairs to the used books.

As a reader of course I can't resist cheap second hand books, and the smell of leather and old paper. And the charm of exploring narrow stairways and inter-connecting rooms all stacked floor-to-ceiling with mostly one-offs.

Guess I'll be needing a few more shelves.
And if you are searching for a rare out of print book, why not try them www.carnforthbooks.co.uk