What do you do on summer vacation? Beach Read!
I’m just finishing up Clarissa Dickson Wright’s memoir Spilling the Beans. You know Clarissa, right? She’s one half of the dynamic duo, along with
Jennifer Patterson, of the television cooking show Two Fat Ladies. God, I love that show.
Part of the charm of the show is their outspokenness. I’m sure people watched just to see what
politically incorrect things Clarissa particularly but Jennifer too would say. They had strong opinions and weren’t afraid to
say them.
Clarissa’s memoir is similarly forthright. Having been raised with an alcoholic and
violent father who made everyone’s life a living hell, Clarissa is wedded to
the truth ~ much like I am. Not that I
was physically abused at all, but I became painfully aware of the huge
gap between what everyone agreed was the truth and what was my truth. Why did these things not match? I think that’s why I write realism ~ because
what I’m trying to do is tell the truth as I see it. Representing things with the fantastical is
wonderful in its own right, but not what interests me.
But the problem comes when Clarissa’s declarations paint with such a
broad brush. “All alcoholics are this.”
She simplifies things a bit too much for my taste on things that I know
something about. If only the world were
that simple. But at the same time, some
of these pronouncements have great truth in them and also are very funny and
wise. But it’s hard to put your finger
on exactly why they feel offensive at times.
I guess because they reduce people.
It feel very British colonial, which would make sense.
Yet she's wonderfully understanding and nuanced about her father Arthur, who was such a lost soul and horrible family man yet great doctor.
Yet she's wonderfully understanding and nuanced about her father Arthur, who was such a lost soul and horrible family man yet great doctor.
Clarissa is a good writer and has such a wonderfully wicked sense of
humor. She always goes for the salacious
sex details, and I think a lot of the details she tells are rumors and
gossip. Which makes this memoir a
wonderful tell-all, no matter how true it is. She’s not afraid to name
drop. It’s wonder she didn’t get sued.
(Maybe she did.)
She goes into great detail about her alcoholism and all the horrible
things she did and takes responsibility for it all. She is genuinely warm and generous and wonderful. And since I’m an Anglophile I love it, even
as I’m hating myself for loving it because in a lot of ways it’s a
gossip-rag. It’s written for a British
audience and so I don’t know a lot of the names of people, and she takes for
granted that her audience knows, but really you don’t need to know to get the
gist of things.
Did you know that Jennifer with Clarissa really did do a 180 on the
bike in the Two Fat Ladies? Apparently, Jennifer planned to do it and didn’t tell the producer but told the cameraman to stay on
them. I’m not sure Clarissa knew ahead
of time. Later, Jennifer offhandedly said that they would have flipped the bike
had it been on gravel.
Another thing that shocks me is that Clarissa was 48 when the first
episodes were shot. I’m 46. That feels really weird.
And I’m reminded of the power of story.
A reader makes such a connection with the protagonist of a book that you
forgive them everything, even if they are horrid. When Clarissa was in the depths of her alcoholism,
she was pretty horrid to everyone. And
the entitlement that comes with money is hard to put your mind around. As someone who came from poor background, I
find it hard to swallow the amount of pure selfish greed and the waste of a life
in the middle there.
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