Tumgik
#memoirs
mysharona1987 · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
33K notes · View notes
leveragehunters · 6 months
Text
I was going through my great grandfather's memoirs (born 3 March 1880) and came across this part, which feels eerily similar to our current times:
Our biggest handicap was the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1918. With men off sick we were lucky to have 50 staff. Some would come back and more would go off. I was off two weeks myself. There were many deaths in the city.   The war was over and the men were returning from France. We were working a fifty hour week. With the men returning, the trend was to repress wages and frown on a reduction of working hours. My responsibility had been increased so as I was next to the superintendent. This was fine, except my wages were the same as the day I started. They said, "You are doing a good job, but with the men returning that is all we can pay you." There was general upset. The returned men were dissatisfied with the wages offered, not only with our company and the warehouse business, but with what was being offered in general.
He then goes on to explain how they met with the Trade and Labour Council to form a union and present their demands (which were union recognition, basic wage of $180.00 a month, an eight hour day in a year's time, and a two year contract), but it all went to hell because of spies reporting back to the bosses and scabs who refused to honour the strike.
After the second day they flooded back like sheep. At Ashdown the travellers and buyers worked the warehouse without interruption of service. The strike was a washout. I was out of a job!
The night before the strike was scheduled to start the bosses even resorted to the closest they had to social media 105 years ago.
The Evening paper carried an advertisement, by all companies concerned, advising that all employees absent from work for three days, would be discharged.
(The memoirs are 180 typed pages, so I may post more bits as they catch my eye)
208 notes · View notes
Text
easily becoming, through an open eye, monstrous and beautiful.
Patti Smith, from Woolgathering
114 notes · View notes
papenathys · 7 months
Note
Do you have any recs for books about muslim queer people? especially graphic novels?
I have some fiction recommendations, as I don't usually read too much non-fiction:
[ NOTE: Yes, I am aware that all the gay books listed below are depressing as fuck while the sapphic books are fluff or romance. Take it up with the authors. ]
MLM Muslim Books
Darius The Great is Not Okay by Adib Khorram: an Iranian-American boy with clinical depression makes a best friend for life, reconnects with his grandparents, and repairs his relationship with his father on a trip to Yazd.
Guapa by Saleem Haddad: Rasa, a gay man working as a translator and living in an unnamed Arab country, tries to carve out a life for himself in the midst of political and social upheaval, in this novel set over 24 hours.
God in Pink by Hasan Namir: set in war-torn Iraq in 2003 and follows a young gay Iraqi man struggling to find a balance between his sexuality, religion, and culture by seeking guidance from a sheikh.
The Carpet Weaver by Nemat Sadat: a tragic love story between two gay youths in 1970s Afghanistan, who must keep their relationship a secret due to the fears of societal ostracisation, violence and even the impending threat of a war.
WLW Muslim Books
The Henna Wars by Adiba Jaigirdar: Nishat, a young Bangladeshi-Irish lesbian has to fight against racism, homophobia and cultural appropriation when she starts a henna business at her Catholic school, and falls for a rival classmate.
Bright Lines by Tanaïs: a vibrant debut novel set in Brooklyn and Bangladesh, which follows three young women and a diasporic Bengali family struggling to make peace with secrets and their past.
The Love and Lies of Rukhsana Ali by Sabina Khan: a young Bengali-American girl's conservative Muslim parents forcibly send her off to Bangladesh for marriage, after they catch her kissing her girlfriend; once there, she finds solace and strength through reading her grandmother’s old diary.
Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating by Adiba Jaigirdar: a grumpy-sunshine fake dating romance between two young Bengali-Irish sapphic girls, one Muslim and one Hindu, each having her own troubled relationships with friends, religion and family.
The Quilt and Other Stories by Ismat Chughtai: a collection that includes the titular erotic lesbian love story between a Begum and her maidservant, their sexual trysts unknowingly observed by an innocent little girl– this story revolutionized Indian queer literature and lesbian history.
Radiant Fugitives by Nawaaz Ahmed: a Muslim-Indian lesbian political activist working in the early days of Obama's presidency, attempts to reconnect with her mother and sister, years after her father abandoned her because of her sexuality.
Roses in the Mouth of a Lion by Bushra Rehman: Razia, a Pakistani American, grows up across cultures in 1980s New York, confronting stereotypes, dealing with American society, practicing her Muslim faith, and falling in love with a female classmate.
Tell me How You Really Feel by Aminah Mae Safi: a YA enemies-to-lovers romantic comedy about a popular Persian-Indian Muslim cheerleader and a Jewish wannabe director who end up working together on a project, despite their mutual hatred.
Soft on Soft by Em Ali: a very fluffy and low-angst romance between two plus size women- a Persian makeup artist/beauty influencer with anxiety and a Black actress.
MEMOIRS
My Life as A Unicorn by Amrou Al-Kadhi: from a god-fearing British-Iraqi Muslim boy enraptured with their mother, to a vocal, queer drag queen estranged from their family, this is a memoir about the author's fight to be true to themself.
Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H: a nonbinary butch Muslim author's powerful, religious memoir spanning from her childhood, to their arrival in the United States for college through early-adult life in New York City, describing how she found queer affirmation in the Quran and Islam.
A Dutiful Boy by Mohsin Zaidi: a poignant coming of age memoir by a British-Muslim gay author, about growing up queer in a conservative household, amidst poverty-stricken east London.
We Have Always Been Here by Samra Habib: a memoir about feminism and LGBTQ community by a nonbinary queer Ahmadi Muslim author, whose family sought asylum in Canada after fleeing Pakistan's political turmoil.
In Sensorium (Notes for My People) by Tanaïs: this memoir interlaces memories of childhood in the South, Midwest US and New York with a universe of memories and scent—inspired by the author's own perfume maker background– while offering an alternate history of South Asia from a Bangladeshi Muslim femme perspective.
I have not read some of these, and am not Muslim, so I cannot testify to their "correctness" of Islamic representation. Unfortunately I do not have any graphic novels that deal with queerness and Islam. Perhaps my followers can help.
181 notes · View notes
feral-ballad · 2 years
Text
You were suspicious of their feelings because you had no reason to love yourself—not your body, not your mind. You rejected so much gentleness. What were you looking for?
Carmen Maria Machado, from In the Dream House: A Memoir
3K notes · View notes
absurdmageart · 4 months
Text
Tumblr media
Hi Everyone!
I'm back once again looking for a little more help. It unfortunately looks like I'll need to make it through most if not all of December before seeing any payment from my ex-husband. I only need to make it to January when the safety net of my school grant will kick in.
I know it's close to the holidays and money can be tight for many of you, so please DO NOT feel bad if you are unable to help. Please do not put yourself in the danger zone to help me. You come first!
Now, as my image says, for each $10 donation, I will write 1000 words toward your fic of choice listed above. Each chapter I write runs at a minimum of 5000 words, so for every $50, you'll get a new chapter even if the chapter runs over 5000 words! However, you don't have to donate the full $50 by yourself! It's a team effort. All donations made for a specific fic will count toward the same chapter!
My Kofi Link: https://ko-fi.com/absurdmageart
If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask! I appreciate you all from the bottom of my heart.
Thank you for all your support! ❤
103 notes · View notes
memoirsofasiren · 4 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The indoctrination of a hopeless romantic
55 notes · View notes
ruminiscence · 3 months
Text
Paris: A Year Abroad in a short film
Audio: "Burnt Norton" by Lana Del Rey, a rendition of the original poem "Burnt Norton" by T.S. Eliot.
Where do I even start? Paris has wholly shaped me in ways I never imagined. We refer to Paris as the city of love, but I'm now more inclined to call it the city of art - which only leaves more room for love in your heart. There is so much to contemplate and appreciate in frequenting the vast array of art museums here - from the Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, Musée de l’Orangerie, the Centre Georges Pompidou, and many more. Not only has my perspective on art expanded, but so has my worldview. That’s because art is truly everywhere in this city; art can be found in the walkable streets amidst the rich architecture, the fashionable outfits seen in daily life, and even the exquisite decor in stores and when you cheekily peek into Parisian appartments!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
There's always something new to discover in Paris, I'm almost saddened at the thought of the things I've yet to discover or missed. The unhidden treasures to unveil in Paris move far beyond the typical tourist hotspots we all know and love. I am obsessed with Parisian boutiques; they are chic and unique (that unintentionally rhymed) in the best way possible. One of my favourites is La Tonkinoise à Paris, located in the 11th arrondissement. This particular arrondissmenet is the best in Paris to be honest, it holds a special place in my heart as I had the wonderful opportunity of living there, so perhaps you can say that I am somewhat biased. Still, I can confidently say that this animated, hip and creative neighbourhood is one everyone should have the chance to explore.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
La Tonkinoise à Paris, owned by the lovely Chantal, is my favourite hidden gem in Paris. I had the pleasure of befriending Chantal as I ended up frequenting her store one too many times; I've garnered quite a collection over time. This boutique offers a wide range of eccentric and sustainable jewellery, with her earring creations being the show stoppers, in my opinion. Her jewellery is composed of rings, pearls, brooches, charms, and watches, all unearthed in flea markets and recycled. I love that every piece of jewellery indeed is a unique piece. The decor changes based on the season and theme of her new collections, making it an ever-changing and exciting shopping experience. This is honestly the best jewellery store I have ever been to in my life! I wish the pictures I took could do the jewellery and the boutique's decor justice, but it simply won't, I'm afraid.
Tumblr media
Now, onto food, I genuinely need to figure out where to start here. My favourite authentic French restaurant would have to be 'Le Potager du Père Thierry', located in Montmartre. Although it's incredibly small, I love the cosy vibe; I feel like I can enjoy delicious food with friends without feeling surrounded by strangers. Surprisingly, it's also very quiet (yet packed) - I guess the food is just too distracting.
As of late, my favourite non-french restaurant has to be 'Big Black Cook' (let's ignore how inappropriate that pun is, though funny). It's located in the 2nd arrondissement and serves Caribbean food, my friend claims that it was the best meat she's had!
For brunch, I recommend Café Méricourt in the 11th arrondissement. Their green Eggs & Feta are absolutely incredible and quite innovative as far as brunch places go.
As for a boulangerie - seriously, anywhere, literally anywhere in Paris, go to your nearest bakery; there need not be a big fuss - you're in for a scrumptious baked treat regardless!
Tumblr media
I'm ever so grateful for the chance to have lived in Paris for an extended period; you cannot appreciate Paris in its entire splendour from a mere short-term visit. The city is an actual work of art; art is everywhere in the city, from the street performers and musicians, the light filters through the trees, the city's many architecturally rich bridges, the picturesque cafés and boulangeries, the beautifully presented food, the way that the city's many different neighbourhoods each have their own distinct character and vibe. In Paris, art is everywhere.
68 notes · View notes
stavroginas · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
— Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation
568 notes · View notes
joachimnapoleon · 2 months
Text
Seeing the Memoirs of Mademoiselle Avrillion mentioned recently in an exchange between @josefavomjaaga and @phatburd, I figured I'd look through them for anything pertaining to the Murats. (I'm not convinced that she's the same person as Élisabeth de Vaudey though; Mlle Avrillion's memoirs are listed in the references sections of her Wiki page but there is nothing to indicate they are the same person that I've found; if either of you have since turned up anything to the contrary, please share.) Anyway, she had some interesting details and opinions on the two. I hope you all enjoy!
Excerpt:
The emperor often took the subject of his brother-in-law’s costumes for the text of his jokes; I have even heard him mock them seriously and with bitterness. Furthermore, I am authorized to believe that, deep down, the emperor did not like Prince Murat, and he spoke of him, in general, in an unobliging manner. His curly hair falling on his shoulders, which made him resemble a king of theatre, particularly displeased him; and if the emperor disdained to deal openly in such puerilities, it was not so in his moments of intimacy with the Empress, where nothing escaped his critical observations.
65 notes · View notes
microcosme11 · 2 months
Text
Murat's hairstyle noted by Austrian
Princess Pauline is very pretty, the Queen of Holland very ugly, the Queen of Westphalia very fat, the King of Holland very debilitated, the King of Naples has a very funny hairstyle of two long curls of hair falling down on his shoulders like a perruque à marteaux [an ancien regime wig].
—Souvenirs du prince Charles de Clary-et-Aldringen
source
58 notes · View notes
mysharona1987 · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
281 notes · View notes
empirearchives · 5 months
Text
Napoleon’s sadness on not becoming a scientist
“I myself heard him explain it like this: The profession of arms became my profession, and was not of my choice, and I found myself engaged in it due to circumstances. And these regrets, on this subject, he expressed even in the midst of his most brilliant triumphs; a memory of faith in his first vocation: there were days when his finest trophies did not console him for this other favorite job of his life, which he recognized was less brilliant, but which he had dreamed of pure happiness.”
— Étienne Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire about Napoleon
[italics in original]
Source: Sur une vue scientifique de l'adolescence de Napoléon Bonaparte, formulée dans son âge mûr, p. 2
54 notes · View notes
josefavomjaaga · 2 months
Text
Ida meets Ney in Russia
I dimly remember that somebody (Cadmus?) mentioned they wanted to read more from Ida. So here’s a brief snippet of Ida – for once – getting in trouble with her hero, of Ney scolding her and … being jealous of Eugène?
The meeting takes place somewhen in late 1812 or early 1813, as much as it’s possible to tell from Ida’s chronological rollercoaster ride. In any case, after or at the end of the Russian retreat. Because of course Ida had joined the Russian campaign as well.
And not only she. If any tumblerinas here plan on learning how to time travel and want to go back to see the Grande Armée march towards Moscow, they don’t need to worry about incognitos. Most likely they would barely be noticed, as apparently there were wagonloads of groupies following their heroes around.
Okay: four. But that’s only those ladies Ida travelled with. Plus, two of them died on the way back.
Ida was particularly fond of a Polish-Lithuanian girl named Nidia, as madly in love with general Montbrun as Ida was in love with Ney. Not that either of the two got to see their idol much during the march. As a matter of fact, the first thing Nidia learned before entering Moscow was that Montbrun had been killed at the battle of Borodino. Other than that, Ida claims to have had a bad feeling about this city from the start:
As we entered Moscow, occupied at last by our troops, this immense city seemed to us like a vast tomb; its empty streets, deserted buildings and solemnity of destruction were heartbreaking. Despite the pomp of victory, I felt struck by I don't know what new kind of melancholy when I saw it; the flags seemed to me gloomy and almost surrounded by funeral crêpes and black forebodings. We were staying in Rue Saint-Pétersbourg, near the Miomonoff palace, which was soon occupied by Prince Eugène. The sight of this young hero and the cheers of the soldiers, who adored him, gave us back all the illusions of victory.
Okay, so I just added this because it’s so rare to see Eugène receive some praise. (I should also mention that the adored young hero was growing bald at an alarming rate and that his bad teeth were killing him.)
As a matter of fact, Ida claims that Nidia was especially interested in Eugène because he was rumoured to maybe become king of Poland (yes, another candidate). These rumours did really exist, Eugène mentions them in a letter to his wife before the campaign started. (And he also makes it pretty clear that these are just rumours and that he has not the slightest ambition to stay in this country. He may have used different vocabulary than Lannes but he didn’t like the region any better.)
The following night, Ida and Nidia wake up to a burning Moscow and are saved by soldiers of 4th corps. On the retreat, they seem to have followed headquarters as closely as possible, which was their safest bet to stay alive (because where the emperor is, there’s food and firewood and a resemblance of order) but still witness horrible tragedies. After the crossing of the Berezina, they apparently followed the remnants of Eugène’s 4th corps to Marienwerder, before Nidia says goodbye and goes back to defending Poland.
But before, on the way, at Valutina (?), Ida finally sees Ney again
At this point, after the retreat, Ida at least starts to question her decision to follow the Grande Armée around. Or something like that.
I have just recounted my fatigue, my difficulties and my perils in a war beyond human endurance, because of the new aspects it seemed to give to destruction and death. A powerful feeling made me undertake everything and endure everything. Why was I going to face the hazards of a campaign? Why was I going to expose the weakness of a woman to the rigours of a climate of iron? In order to obtain yet another glance from the one whose smile had always paid me for my military errands. This look was always like a world offered to my hopes; the dream alone of this reward had made possible all the impossibilities of time, distance, sex and fortune. My life was thus burnt for a few hours, still uncertain. I was giving up everything for a moment in space. Alas! this time, how I was going to regret this moment that had cost me so much to conquer! I had just gambled my existence for a flash of happiness, and this flash, the quickest of my life, became the cruelest.
I had to spend three fatal hours in a miserable shack on the outskirts of Volutina. My dress was so horrible that it was a real disguise. In a person dressed like that, one could hardly suspect a woman. Ney, however, only had to look my way to recognise me. To have been seen was enough to have been discovered. I was about to rush to the front of this first happiness; I was about to testify to the soul of my life how proud I was of this divination of friendship, of this perspicacity of memory, when words of an energy which was far from that of the feeling of which I was possessed, intimated to me the order of the most positive dismissal: "What are you doing here? What do you want? Go away quickly." With this address and a few short, curt rebukes about my reckless rage and my fury at following him everywhere, I only had the strength to reply: "It is a rage, indeed, but it is not at least the rage of pleasure or vanity," pointing to my coarse clothes and my face burnt by the sun and faded by fatigue. He took no notice of either the harangue or the costume. He was off and running. His displeasure at seeing me there was so great; he let it out so vividly that I thought he was going to push me back to the opposite bank of the Dniéper in his anger. Stunned by the reception, struck by lightning, I remained motionless for more than an hour, staring at him, thinking I saw him; he had disappeared without paying any more attention to me or worrying about me.
From which we can deduct that Ney was not a reader of Jane Austen novels. Otherwise he would have known that whenever you have behaved in a way that made a woman fall in love with you that’s f-ing your fault, monsieur!
In 1813, when I recalled to Marshal Ney this scene of such violent fury, followed by such cruel silence and abandonment, he told me that he had been so mortally frightened by the extravagance which had pushed me into the midst of so many perils and the licentiousness of an army, that he had even been tempted to beat me. Truth requires me to admit that the temptation had been so strong that he had, I believe, yielded to it a little; it was without his knowing it, for the great passions know neither all they want nor all they do. Anger is therefore still love, since it is as blind as fury.
Girl, get help. Seriously.
When we crossed the Dniéper at Serokodia, I could have had another word with him. A new laurel had just hidden his wrongs and healed my wound. I could have, I wanted to say to him: You have just added to your immortal glory here; you alone have just saved Frenchmen lost in deserts of ice; I would have liked to express to him what all parties repeat today, what posterity will proclaim on the ashes of the brave... But I stuck to the joy of hearing the distant cheers. There was then a little fear in my delirium for him, and I almost have the idea that I idolised him even more by fearing him in that way…
Did I mention the thing about getting help?
Yes, even the reproach was appreciated by my heart, and still seemed to me a tender interest. I found I don't know what pleasure in hearing myself scolded later for my association with Nidia, my marches and counter-marches with the Viceroy's troops. No matter how many times I told the Marshal that Eugène's protection had been focused exclusively on the young Lithuanian girl, and that I had slipped unnoticed into this benevolence, he took it into his head to believe nothing of these sincere protestations. To make him reconsider such a strongly conceived idea would have meant exposing myself to a repeat of the Dniéper order and military correction. I had no intention of trying the same pleasure twice. Finally, he saw the evidence of my attachment, and he found the generosity to prove this belated but strong conviction to me [...]
By calling her his brother-in-arms, by the way. And this, I believe, really meant a lot to Ida.
43 notes · View notes
pagansphinx · 2 months
Text
Marc and Bella Chagall – Legend and Love
Tumblr media
Marc Chagall (Russian, 1887-1885) • Bella with White Collar • 1917
Tumblr media
Bella Rosenfeld Chagall (1895-1944)
Marc Chagall's wife and muse, Bella, was the subject of many of the artist’s paintings. They met in the Russian-Jewish village in Belarus where they both grew up and fell in love at first sight.
Tumblr media
The Blue Lovers • 1914
Bella Rosenfeld was a talented writer. Her memoirs were written between 1939 and her death in 1944. Written in Yiddish, they tell the stories of Bella's experiences growing up in a small village in Belarus, from early childhood and adolescence and her early relationship with Chagall.
Tumblr media
The Promenade • 1917
Tumblr media
Marc, Bella, and their daughter Ida in his Paris studio • c. 1924
After her death Chagall and Bella's only child, Ida, worked together to collect and edit Bella's writings and publish them as books. Ida translated the text from Yiddish to French and Chagall created 32 illustrations and an afterword. Burning Lights was published in 1946. The second volume, The First Encounter was published the following year.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
“When you did catch a glimpse of his eyes, they were as blue as if they’d fallen straight out of the sky. They were strange eyes … long, almond-shaped … and each seemed to sail along by itself, like a little boat.” – Bella Chagall, The First Encounter
Sources:
marcchagall.net
commentary.org
Internet Archives: Full text of Burning Light
European Literature Network: A review of Burning Lights and First Encounter by Mika Provata-Carlone
Yiddish Book Center
Wikipedia entry for Bella Rosenfeld
33 notes · View notes
lets-get-lit · 2 months
Text
We age not by holding on to youth, but by letting ourselves grow and embracing whatever youthful parts remain.
- Keith Richards, Life
45 notes · View notes