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5questions · 5 years

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RICHARD CHIEM

BIO: Richard Chiem is the author of You Private Person (Sorry House Classics, 2017), and the novel, King of Joy (Soft Skull, 2019). His book, You Private Person, was named one of Publishers Weekly’s 10 Essential Books of the American West. His work has been published by NY Tyrant, Fanzine, and The Nervous Breakdown, among many other places. He was named a 2019 Writer to Watch by the Los Angeles Times. He has taught at Hugo House, Catapult, and at the University of Washington Bothell. He lives in Seattle.

1. You have Corvus, the protagonist. You have Tim, a pornographic film director who somewhat takes advantage of her. You have her tragic boyfriend, Perry. You have her close friend Amber. Each of these characters is very fully developed. How did you originally conceive of each of these characters? How did they develop through your drafting of this book? I know in some of your early writing you took inspiration from pop cultural media like television and movies, was there similar inspiration here?

I started writing the novel after watching Harmony Korine’s Spring Breakers (2012) and I felt possessed to write one of the first scenes in the book, where Corvus is watching Amber burn down a tree. I am very much a sentence by sentence, sentence level writer, and the film showed me something new about style and plot. In watching the film, I learned that style in a way can transcend form to become story or narrative almost on its own. If something could make emotional sense, it could resonate with the reader. This thinking liberated me and gave me permission to write my weird book. Once I knew who Corvus was, I knew I had a novel project. All the characters are me, or some weird version of me, with inspiration from what I’ve seen in the world. I worked through and processed a lot of grief in writing the novel. I would say I was also very motivated by pop music writing this book, such as listening to a lot of Robyn, Elliott Smith, and Frank Ocean. Movies are also big for me as a model for writing. Films by Robert Bresson, David Cronenberg, Hayao Miyazaki, Wong Kar-Wai, among others. The film Blue Valentine. The novel Breaking & Entering by Joy Williams.

2. Was it weird for you as a male writer to take on the task of exploring a female main character? Did you think about this as you wrote? It’s obviously been done before, and vice versa, and done well many times, but I’m just wondering how self-aware you were about this as you wrote.

I wanted to write a book I wanted to read. I wanted a book that would be hard for me to write with a character I loved with great emotional capacity. I knew I wanted a book about Corvus and her survival, and I knew I wanted the book to feel true to its characters and feel emotionally authentic on the page.

In finding truth in fiction and finding truth in her identity, because I am a cis male and not a woman like Corvus, I had to be accountable to her and her life on the page, so I was very self-aware of her as I was drafting the book. It allowed and motivated me to be constantly asking questions about what story would reveal this truth for her and about her. If I wasn’t doing that precious and crucial work of pushing outside myself, the novel would not have been worth the effort for any reader.

3. Your prose has a deft touch to it, where you pack power into terse but flowing sentences. What writers specifically influenced your stylistic approach to the mechanics of writing, on a sentence-by-sentence level? How do you think your prose has changed since your last book, the story collection YOU PRIVATE PEOPLE?

Thank you so much, Andrew. There are so many writers that have influenced me powerfully, especially on the sentence level, but to start:

Fanny Howe, Rebecca Brown, Dennis Cooper, Joy Williams, Gary Lutz, Renee Gladman, Jean Rhys, Jane Bowles, Agota Kristof, Alissa Nutting, Melissa Broder, Édouard Levé, Unica Zurn, and Blake Butler, to name a few.

I feel as though I am coming into what feels like the height of my powers with prose. Or, the prose feels really good right now. I think what has changed in my prose between the two books is that I have such a stronger sense of what I want to say. Although I am a shadow boxer, I am no longer swinging in the dark, and everything is landing. I am always ready to throw hands.

4. What is your daily life like? How do you organize your time and space around writing and related work?

I would say I try to center my whole life around writing and the writing life. I work an office job (9 to 5) at an accounting department at a book store to pay the rent. I treat my writing time like I treat my sleep: I will take what I can get. I am also an insomniac, so I often write when I can’t find sleep. Otherwise, I try to schedule and manage of an hour of writing or editing every day. But I also allow myself rest when life catches up to me and I just can’t put words to the page. I’ve realized this rest is also crucial to the process and the art of listening to yourself. I also make time to show up for other writers, and I try to attend as many readings as I can, as well as read my peers’ work. I believe this is also crucial to who I am as a writer, being a listener.

5. What kinds of projects are you working on or do you plan to work on now that this book has been published?

I am currently working on a novel, a book of short stories, and a book of poetry. They are tentatively called CAVE ME IN, MESS YOU UP, and NOTHING KILLS ME, respectively. Give me another year or so before one of them is real for the world.

#richard chiem #novel #short story #poetry #real world #office job #dennis cooper #jean rhys #melissa broder #writers #david cronenberg #alissa nutting

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dragonnan · 5 years

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In-Progress Fics (Multifandom)

These are the stories I’m actively working on. If there are WIPs not on this list it means they’re on long term hiatus. I’ve included links (where applicable) and small teasers for each story. This is a bot long so I’ve included a cut. Fandoms include: Sherlock, Doctor Strange, Avengers, and Psych

Psych:

Painted Wings and Giant Rings (rape/noncon warning) Current chapter in development: epilogue Words in chapter so far: 309 Teaser: The dragonflies were reluctant to lift off from the sidewalk – even with three pairs of feet headed their way. A lazy last second hover relocated one of the bright green insects to the bumper of a blue car – though not out of danger. Pudgy fingers reached to grasp it – only to be denied their prize as the child they came with was lifted high out of reach. “Sorry, Phin, mom said no bugs today.” Squirming, face furious, the baby struggled to get back to the ground – a tiny hard shoe kicking wild and impacting a sensitive belly. “Hey -ow! C'mon Son, don't be the Snuffleupagus that only Big Bird can see.” Still wriggling, the toddler grabbed two fistfuls of his father's short beard instead – cackling at the wincing face his actions triggered. “Snuff-up-gus!” he chortled. Behind them both, Juliet giggled – unable to hold her stern expression towards the wayward child. “Shawn, did you just say c'mon son... to your son?” Twisting out of the clutching fingers – surely leaving behind several pieces of beard – Shawn flipped the youngster upside-down – holding him tight by the waist. “I am the father of irony, babe.” Further back, protecting his dollar cup of mini donuts, Gus snorted. “Father of bullsh... uh... baloney, you mean.” “Boney!” Phin chortled – waving his arms. Gently spinning the tiny terror right-side up, again, Shawn rubbed his beard against a petal soft cheek – nearly losing his hearing at the piercing shriek that followed. “Jesus, Spencer, do I need to write you up for disturbing the peace?” Shawn spun on his heels and pressed a broad hand against Phin's left ear; mashing the right one against his chest as he glared at the approaching detective and his family. “Dude, no bad language in front of the kinder!”

OOMPA LOOMPA DO BA DE DIE - Virtual Season 9, Episode 5 (unpublished) Current chapter in development: 2 (of 4) Words in chapter so far: 7,496 Teaser: “Alright, everyone! Are you ready for the first stop?” Shawn gave the room a swift back and forth scan. “I… thought this was the first stop?” Veronica grinned. “Haha! Not exactly, Mr…?” “Spencer, Shawn. And this is my partner, Fannie May ‘Spanx’ Nicoletti. I call him ‘Gummi Bear’ for short.” “Bouncin’ here and there and everywhere.” Gus shared a fist bump with Shawn - toning down his typical come hither leer to a neutral grin. He was, after all, a taken man. “Uh huh,” addressing the group as a whole, Veronica stepped towards a set of plain gray double doors. “So then, if you would please follow me, it’s time to see some magic!” A press of the thumb against the green button next to the doors, and they began to swing apart. Shawn and Gus pushed and wriggled their way to the front - Gus keeping just ahead of his friend with a wicked hip check that sent his buddy plowing into a set of cooling racks. Metal clattering and a round of grousing followed as Shawn disentangled from the rolling racks - almost wobbling into a blue cabinet on the far wall before he got his bearings again. “Dude, cheap shot!” Glares all around from the better mannered members of the tour - the small girl leveling a kick to Shawn’s ankle as he shuffled past her and her grandpop. “Ow! Hey!” Her tiny nose wrinkled at him - her elderly backup pushing up a sleeve in mild threat. “I’d avoid any geese that lay the golden eggs if I were you.” He muttered before moving on to rejoin Gus near the front of the group. But all dreams of technicolor vengeance vanished at the vista that opened before him. Color - like a thousand pixies had just waged battle with a thousand unicorns; their glorious war leaving their brilliant hues across every surface. Bright blue walls, orange ceiling, green floor, blazing yellow packing crates… even the uniforms of the factory works were splashes of rich lavender vibrance. Veronica was nearby; expounding on the factory and the management of blah blah. Shawn, however, was locked in on the source of all that was right with the world. A glorious, gushing masterpiece of culinary and engineering mastery. “Gus!” His hand latched to the right, gripping with fervor at the same moment that Gus snatched his arm right back. A hard swallow, and they both spoke with the awed wonder of two supplicants meeting their Master. “The Cocoa Cascade!”

Sherlock:

The Tiger and the Shark (rape/noncon warning) Current chapter in development: 21 Words in chapter so far: 2,349 Teaser: While Sherlock was settling, once more, John pressed the button on the control pad, next to Sherlock's bed, to alert the nursing staff. With Sherlock awake they'd want to do a vitals check now rather than have to wake him later. “Any pain?” Sherlock opened his mouth and John lifted his chin. “Don't lie.” Grimacing, the detective pushed out his lower lip. “Some. Shoulder, mostly.” “How about the arm?” Sherlock rotated his right hand and jerked with a hard flinch. “Tender.” “Yeah, I'll bet. Maybe try not to move it next time, ta.” Another touch to Sherlock's brow; concern when Sherlock didn't so much as roll his eyes this time. The numbers on the monitor hadn't changed in the last ten minutes and John rubbed his fingers across his lips. “Is it bad?” His eyes may be glazed over but Sherlock's perception was still sharp. John dropped his hand back to his lap where he rolled a loose thread from his jumper. “Well, it's not good. Fever hasn't gone down, yet. We can change out your ice packs, however, and your nurse should be...” The smart knock finished his sentence as a young man eased open the door and popped his head in. “Oh, hey, look who's awake, then.” He smiled through his thick Welsh. “Now then, Mr. Holmes, I understand you'll be needing a top off.” Clearly less than thrilled by the affable man, Sherlock pulled his right arm towards himself, in spite of the wince it caused. “Go away.”

Unpublished Molly-centric story fill set between TRF and TFP - eventual Sherlolly (domestic violence warning) Teaser: “I just wanted to let you know that... well, Dennis is scheduled to be released this afternoon. I didn't find out myself until twenty minutes ago. I know he was meant to be in longer but... well we both know the justice system is a joke. Listen... call me, alright? Let me know... well, I'm here if you need me, yeah. Christ. Just, look after yourself, Molly. I'll talk to you soon.” Molly hung over her sink long after Greg's message had ended.

MCU:

Avengers: New Beginnings (not Avengers Endgame compliant) Current chapter in development: 3 Words in chapter so far: 1,415 Teaser: His head was throbbing. Anxiety wasn't new to him. Since The Bite he'd felt various degrees of nervous energy plucking at the back of his skull. Those first weeks, while trying to make sense of sticking to everything and breaking way too many glasses in a suddenly astounding grip, he'd also been trying to get a grip on the flood of adrenalin surging through his blood on a regular basis. But this... since coming back from the Dusting, he couldn't stop the feeling like... like his senses were going crazy. Like, at first he'd just thought it was because he'd come back in time to see Mr. Stark collapse; arm charred and body starting to seize. He'd thought Thanos had been terrifying but to stand there and helplessly watch Tony just... dying... But then Doctor Strange had opened one of his spin-y portals and Mr. Stark had been carried through and Peter had raced after them and then he was in a hospital and everything had gotten blurry in his memory but he remembered sitting next to Happy and eating Kettle chips until he'd suddenly had to throw up and then he couldn't stop throwing up and for some reason Happy had been holding his head and then Peter had been crying... But Mr. Stark had survived. They'd had to cut off his arm but he'd survived. And Peter had... well he'd smiled at him, when he'd started to wake up and was all groggy and Tony had made a joke and Peter had smiled. But then... but then he'd... cried. Just cried and rubbed his eyes and it wouldn't stop and Mr. Stark and grabbed his sleeve with one hand and pulled him across his chest... It had been nice. Weird and sad and happy but... nice.

“What Did You Do?” Stephen Strange 2019 Bingo Prompt (unpublished) Teaser: “I groveled. I groveled my ass off. And then I made sure that I followed through on every single promise that I made to her.” Was the answer to the question that Stephen had never, actually, asked. Was there something on his face that screamed “single guy in desperate need of dating advice”? “What?” Tony smirked. “You have been ogling the pretty lady doctor for five minutes. Either you are more of a creeper than I'd pegged you for or there's a history with you two that resulted in the lost puppy face you've been sporting.” Stephen crossed his arms. “I'm not ogling Doctor Palmer. I'm making sure she doesn't just pass me off to; shit...” Tony lifted an eyebrow as a slender young man, pushing at least seventeen, toyed with his Harry Potter rims before angling their way through the soup of damaged, disgruntled, and one seriously put out Doctor.

“Whump” Stephen Strange 2019 Bingo Prompt (unpublished) Teaser: The corded straps tightened over his wrists with every turn of the of the bar; corkscrewing the restraints until the joints in his wrists popped under the pressure. Stephen grunted through his teeth and rocked his head back against the wooden headrest. Muscles twitched in his cheek from the grinding movement of his molars. Zings of pain lanced through his fingers in a steady heartbeat; sharp and electric. The turning bar was locked into place; his hands purpling under the crushing pressure. Too much longer and he'd start to experience tissue death. He couldn't even appreciate the spreading numb as circulation was pinched off – the pain of crushed tissues firing a throbbing ache all the way to his elbows. “There, now. Lovely, yes? You have such beautiful hands, Doctor. A shame about the scars.” A touch traced across the back of his fingers; feather light across darkened scar tissue and Stephen locked his arms around the impulse to flinch. A backlog of remarks sat, wasted, on the back of his tongue – locked behind his teeth with a wad of blue silk. The fabric carried the traces of expensive cologne and sweat; a nauseating blend of sour and bitter that caught in his sinuses. His eyes, alone, remained free to observe; though what there was to see was limited in the darkened space. A bedroom; that much was clear; a large bed layered in heavy quilts, several lamps; all dark save for the one with the shade tilted towards his face. The floor, however, was bare wood; though it wasn't too dark to note the rust dark stains overlapping and soaked into the grain. A simple grocery run. No other worldly battles, no inter-dimensional carnivorous slugs, no maniacal purple aliens, not so much as a flerken in a tree. In fact, his purchases currently resided in a corner of the room – milk warm, by now, the deli meat likely a total loss. No robes, no cloak, no Eye of Agamotto. His sling ring was currently worn by his unwelcome companion – though it was a tight fit on his thick fingers. The ring, along with the rest of his possessions, had been pocketed sometime after the heavy blow had stolen his consciousness. His skull still throbbed and he could feel the tickle of blood on the back of his neck. Unclear how long he'd been out but concussion was almost a certainty. The larger figure circled the modified chair to which he was bound – much like a heavy-duty school desk with restraints bolted at every joint as well as his waist and throat. He could curl his toes and roll his eyes but even his head was held face forward by a clamp surrounding his skull – preventing him from following the movement of his captor as he moved out of sight. He could hear him, however; a gait marred by the drag of his disfigured right foot; an impediment that had certainly not hindered him in abducting the Master of the New York Sanctum. Yes, the thought carried all of the sarcastic weight he'd been prevented from expressing. “I've watched you. Oh, for years, now.” The drag-step moved to his left side and this time Stephen did flinch as heavy fingers brushed across his cheekbone; mortified at the muffled grunt that pushed against the mouthful of smooth fabric. The hand dropped away and then the man was before him, once again. “They never truly, appreciated you, did they; your peers. All of those miracles... all of those lives saved... only to throw you away when they no longer thought they could use you.” The touch returned to his scars and Stephen swallowed – hand jerking against his manacles. “All because of an accident.”

Untitled Irondad and Spiderson fic (unethical medical experimentation and torture warning) (unpublished) Teaser: Tony had, by now, moved from the roof to the sidewalk and it was, pun regretfully employed, child's play to enter – alarms disabled with a flick of his AI. His last visit, an hour earlier, had been a more restrained affair due to the warehouse being in operation. In fact, he hadn't even entered – keeping his surveillance covert (in spite of Nat's assertions otherwise, yes, he could do subtle). The first red flag had arisen upon noting the level of security wrapping the building like a Christmas present. On paper, the place was a manufacturing plant for the military. Nothing weaponizable; more along the lines of meal trays, pop up buildings, carabiners, and the like. The second red flag was location. Why would the military have a contract with a small manufacturing warehouse in the middle of the suburbs? “Interior scan.” The recording had continued to play as he walked; mostly the sound of idle chatting as Peter explored the warehouse. “... I mean it isn't like she can't grow things; she raised me, right? Maybe we just need better fertaliz... what was that?” “I am not detecting anything.” “No – no there was... it wasn't a sound it...” A piercing throb blasted through the speakers; though not as ear-splitting as his first time hearing it. “...en? Karen! Shit! What was... Oh crap, oh crap! Karen! Karen – Mr. Stark! I, ow! Mr. Stark I don't... I don't know if you're still getting this but... but... No!” A flurry of sounds – clangs and what sounded like an electrical hum followed by Peter giving a sharp cry and, most disturbing, a damp CRACK and a scream. There were several seconds of silence. Then... “It's coded to the suit! Mr. Stark, it's code-” And that was it.

“Sed Diabolus” (unpublished - massive multi-chaptered story conceived with the brilliant assistance of @kitcat992) There is very little actual story text at this point - the current development stage is outlining this beast. However, I can share a smidgen of what this fic will entail. This is yet another “fix-it” for endgame. Without giving too much away it involves a a villain from Stephen Strange’s past along with a terrifying and malevolent being from the comics. There will be crossing between universe’s, threats of world domination, death and destruction, fire, explosions...

I have just a small little teaser below but I promise more once the story goes into full production!

Stephen gaped as the floor peeled away from the massive form; pointed ears and red skin; cliché devil it may be the utter horror it projected swallowed any quip he may have conjured. Searing heat baked from its flesh and reddened through his own ghostly form in a way that should have been impossible!

“Sorcerer...” The voice rattled from its throat like a plague of locusts and it grinned with bladed teeth. Without further comment it thrust a clawed hand through Stephen's form... and he screamed as he was engulfed in fire.

#fanfic #wips #multifandom #Sherlock #Doctor Strange #irondad and spiderson #Psych

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dinafbrownil · 5 years

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For Boomers Reframing Aging, Age-Proofing A Home Won’t Come Cheap

AUSTIN, Texas — Chris and Dennis Cavner, in their early 70s, are preparing to move less than two blocks away into a 2,720-square-foot, ranch-style house they bought this year. But first a renovation is underway, taking the 45-year-old property all the way back to its studs. When the work is completed, these baby boomers are confident the move will land them in their forever home.

“We wanted to find a house that we could live in literally for the rest of our lives,” he said. “We were looking specifically for a one-story house — and one that had a flat lot, to age in place.”

Aging in place is a major financial commitment, one that may be at odds with retirees’ plans to downsize their lives and budgets and squirrel away cash in anticipation of rising health care costs. The Cavners are rebuilding this house — assessed at $700,000 around the time of the sale — from a shell. The updates will easily cost $300,000 in the hot Austin market.

Leaving nothing to chance, the Cavners are making a number of modifications they might never need. For instance, neither uses a wheelchair, but contractors are making all doorways 3 feet wide for accessibility throughout — just in case. The master bath roll-in shower, flat and rimless, will provide room to maneuver and the master bath vanity is also at wheelchair-accessible height. Kitchen drawers, rather than cabinets, will allow easy access in a wheelchair. The Cavners are closely watching details of the renovation, but it wasn’t a hard decision.

The Cavners are remodeling a guestroom with a private bathroom which could serve as caregiver quarters if they need assistance as they age.(Sharon Jayson for KHN)

For some seniors, aging in place might amount to simple home modifications, such as adding shower grab bars and handrails or replacing a standard toilet with one that sits taller. But many seniors anticipate a financial crunch as they try to plan for their future on a fixed income, uncertain their savings and retirement funds will last.

With an average 10,000 people a day turning 65, according to the U.S. Census Bureau, the 65-and-older segment of the population is the nation’s fastest-growing: By 2050, almost one-quarter of Americans will be at least 65. A host of surveys conducted over the past decade show that older adults overwhelmingly want to age in their homes. Two in 5 U.S. homeowners are baby boomers, according to a 2018 report released from Fannie Mae.

But for many people, aging at home isn’t in the cards. Abbe Will, associate project director of the Remodeling Futures Program at the Joint Center for Housing Studies of Harvard University, said that many houses aren’t suited to “aging in place.”

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“Currently, a lot do not have single-floor living — especially in certain parts of the country. There are lots of stairs and multistory homes when land is more valuable,” she said. And “many households and homeowners don’t necessarily have the funds to do aging in place.”

Home modifications and costs vary widely — starting with those simple safety features in the bathroom or lever doorknobs throughout the house — to more extensive changes, such as widening doorways to accommodate wheelchairs, replacing kitchen cabinets with drawers or lowering light switches to wheelchair height. Will said simple retrofits, such as grab bars and railings, “could be several hundred dollars,” but a “whole bathroom remodel would be in the thousands or tens of thousands.”

And a lot of people won’t have the money for extensive modifications. A new survey of 1,000 people age 65 and older by the California-based nonprofit SCAN (formerly the Senior Care Action Network) found 80% of respondents were concerned about their ability to age in place. The driver appears to be financial: About 60% said they have less than $10,000 in savings (including investments and retirement plans), while 28% reported minimal or no retirement savings.

A study in the journal Health Affairs published this spring illustrates the shaky situation for middle-class aging adults who can’t afford modifications to stay at home but who have too much money to qualify for federal housing assistance. Over the next decade, the researchers expect the number of middle-income seniors 75 and older to more than double to over 14 million. And, of that group, more than half (54%) won’t have the assets they will need to cover the projected average yearly cost of $60,000 for assisted living and other out-of-pocket medical costs.

“We don’t know what’s coming down the pipeline as we age,” said sociologist Deborah Thorne of the University of Idaho in Moscow, Idaho, lead author of a study that found skyrocketing bankruptcy rates among those 65 and older.

The research, to be published in the journal Sociological Inquiry, finds the share of older Americans filing for bankruptcy has never been higher, with a filing rate increase of more than 200% from 1991 to 2016 among those 65 and older: “And bankrupt households are more likely than ever to be headed by a senior — the percent of older bankrupt filers has increased almost 500 percent since 1991,” the study found.

Don and Lynn Dille built an energy-efficient home in Austin to age in place, with hard floors throughout, 36-inch-wide doorways and open living areas for easy maneuvering should either need a wheelchair.(Sharon Jayson for KHN)

James Gaines, an economist with the Real Estate Center at Texas A&M University, attributes the increase “to the labor market and employment downsizing and letting older people go first. It can force them into retirement whether they’re ready for it or not. Retirement income may not be enough to carry their debts, and they don’t have enough savings.”

“The leading edge of baby boomers has not hit 75 yet,” said Jennifer Molinsky, whose work at the Joint Center for Housing Studies of Harvard University focuses on housing for older adults. “When you think about the next five, 10 or 15 years when they’re in their 80s, you’re really going to see the needs shift.”

Because disability rates will rise with chronic illnesses and conditions, requiring more assistance, Molinsky said, communities need to think more about transportation for seniors, as well as “different kinds of housing than we have now.”

Don and Lynn Dille, both 75, built their Austin home with the intention of staying there for a long time. After living in California, Virginia and elsewhere in Texas, they moved to Austin in 2012 and, within a year, began drawing plans with an architect for an energy-efficient home to age in place. Their home was featured this summer in Austin’s annual Cool House Tour for its design making the most of natural light, cross-ventilation and solar panels, as well as wider-than-normal doorways and level floors for a wheelchair.

To improve the air quality in their home, The Dilles had builders detach the garage. Then, to eliminate steps, they added a ramp. Their home was featured this summer as part of the city’s annual Cool House Tour.(Sharon Jayson for KHN)

One key feature of the construction acknowledges that they might need live-in help down the road to avoid long-term nursing care. Just as the Cavners may convert a bedroom and bath on the opposite side of their new home into caregiver quarters, the Dilles constructed a second floor above their detached garage that could easily convert into living space.

“We think having a separate apartment where we could have a caretaker or part-time help to maintain our property makes us able to stay where we’d like to be and be independent,” said Don Dille, who retired from the federal government.

But, as adults consider whether to plunge ahead with simple modifications or undertake more extensive renovations, there are always unknowns.

Cavner, an investment adviser and co-founder of a new health care startup, said he believes what they’re spending to renovate the house for the years ahead will prove a sound investment. “The modifications we’re making are not going to make it less desirable. It will feel more spacious.”

from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/baby-boomers-aging-aging-in-place-retrofit-homes/

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jewishmuseumldn · 6 years

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Fragments of Childhood – Then and Now

by Jemima Jarman, Assistant Curator

The Jewish Museum London recently received a generous donation of 14 charming oil paintings, depicting East Ham, Ilford in the 1930s. The artist, A. David Crown, M.D., (1924-2016), created these paintings after retiring from a medical career in Rochester, New York; drawing upon memories of his early childhood and the neighbourhood he grew up in. Each painting is accompanied with written memories of the place he depicts.

The subjects of his paintings include street scenes, shop fronts, cinemas, synagogues and London buses. Each painting is full of warmth and character in which Crown’s childhood memories are depicted in bright colours and where each scene bursts with nostalgic detail. Dr. Crown wrote in his opening statement: “The paintings do not exactly depict the places, nor are they to scale…but they show what cannot be said. And the accompanying brief recollections have said what cannot be shown.”

Both the series of paintings and the written memoirs were entrusted to the Jewish Museum London by Dr. David Crown’s widow, Deborah Cohen-Crown; who has enabled these stories and images of a Jewish childhood in 1930’s Britain to be shared with future generations.

Of the 14 oils, 6 have been selected to feature in this blog post with Crown’s own (edited) text accompanying them.

King’s Dairy

“King's Dairy was across High Street North, beside a short road to the Salisbury Elementary School. It was, I was told, the last actual dairy with cows in Greater London. Indeed, there were cows behind the store front - I went past them and smelled them every school day till I was nearly eleven.

Behind it was my school (not that colour of course). The stairs are where Ivor Good, Saul Cohen, David Miller, Dennis Morris and I nightly fought Gerald Cox and his Jew hating friends many many nights when we came out from classes to go home. Ivor was not Jewish but as we were outnumbered and he adored ideas of chivalry and was taller than us and a good fighter, he was very welcome.

My memories of that school are prolific - of Miss Lindsell who encouraged me to write and in whose classroom at my suggestion we created a lending library which failed dismally - the books were stolen. She's the one who, when I used words like "ichthyology" and "Jewfish" denied they existed. Also that darned anti-Semitic Mr. James who caned me and threatened me with his Luger on the last day before Christmas vacation, when I was ten, because of my response to Dennis William Davis's crude note depicting a "wandering Jew." My drawing was better! So was my reply but James intercepted it, caned me, and as a result the four Jews in the class were segregated in the far back corner and told to be silent throughout the festivities or he would shoot us.”

Fire Engine Fanny

“The bridge over the railway where the Manor Park Station was located was ideal for roller skating. The game required that you waddled up the hill like a person wearing skis and then come whizzing down, turning the corner at the bottom or else you would shoot off the curb and into the road, possibly into the path of oncoming vehicles - potentially dangerous. In the painting there are only two of us whereas usually there were many more, even 5 or 6.

The first house round the corner, with its hinged gate and gravel path, led to the door of Fire Engine Fanny, so named for her bright red nose. At night, usually frosty and cold, we would silently (except for suppressed giggles) unlatch the gate and shuffle with our skates on to the front door...then we would bang loudly on her door, yell insults through her letter box and flee.

In the painting the coalman's dray horse is coming over the crest with his sacks of coal. But on the way up the other side the horses would often slip slide and stumble to their knees. Their steel shoes on the cobbles would throw up comet-like showers of sparks. I was fascinated when these horses would urinate, a torrent of steaming splashing yellow pee. And I would watch when they lifted their tails to deposit mounds of steaming straw-filled poop on the road. The sparrows loved it. I have left some of it on the road in the picture!”

Cheder

“Carlisle Street was a very ordinary street, gray with rowhouses on both sides. About two hundred yards down on the south side was the synagogue. The rabbi, actually a chazen, was Mr. Miller. The front cement yard was quite small and on religious holidays it was packed with men taking a breather. It was enclosed by 6 foot walls except for the entrance. Then came the huge double wooden doors and once inside it was suddenly dark till ones eyes adjusted.

There was a room off to the side with rows of desks for our cheder. The teacher, a short man with an agitated shiny bald head and a few strands of greasy hair, mustard-coloured stains down his front and smelling of stale sweat and pickled herring, would stride up and down the aisles very excited. He carried a black ruler and if he came up behind you and found you were inattentive (like having your book open at the wrong page) he would crack you across your knuckles with that ruler. I did not like him. I did not like being pent in. I played truant, cricket or soccer or street games being preferable. I missed class as often as I could but I had to attend one day each month. That was the day dad gave me 2/6 to pay for my lessons. I knew that if I did not show up that day with the money, questions would be asked, and the truth would come out.

The last time I saw the synagogue a few years ago, it was disused, locked up, derelict with barbed wire along the walls.”

Barber’s Bakery

“The bakery was a family run affair - rather "low life" types. The toy miniature loaves of Hovis, 1d (1 penny each) were my favourite. I would have it all to myself. I spent a lot of time in the back room where the ovens were, swatting numerous flies for Mr. Barber. But I stopped helping him this way when I encountered a corpse in my slice of raisin bread!

The bakery was very 2nd rate, 3rd, 4th even. Behind the shop the family of 6 or 7 lived and they bought their potatoes by the sack - I'd never seen that before or for that matter, since. One Christmas when we had all of our family and friends for dinner, dad bought a 30+lb turkey which wouldn't fit our oven but he arranged with Mr. Barber to cook it in his bread oven- along with some neighbour’s turkeys. I went with him on that cold day, to carry it home on a wooden board from the bakery...very slowly along the slippery alley and home by the back gate.”

Spare a Copper

“I go to the movies almost every Saturday afternoon. The Coronation Cinema was probably opened at the beginning of the reign of George V and Mary. For 3 pence you saw two features, assorted shorts (Pathe Gazette, a couple of gay fellows in tennis togs or evening dress, one playing the piano while the other leans languorously against it and sings daft stuff, and several animated cartoons). And there's an interval when the lights come on for a while and the theatre organ mysteriously rises from profound depths for a recital. All organists seem to be named Reginald. All for three pence. Of course, when the lights are down and the scant audience's cigarette smoke curls up through the flickering beams of the movie, I sneak down to the front sixpenny seats. I might stay on to see the movie, or part of it twice, moving to a different seat believing the usher won't catch me- he doesn't care. The biggest problem was getting into the theatre because sometimes the film was Adult rated. Kids not allowed in except accompanied by an adult. So you hung around the entrance and kept running up to people who were going in and asked them to take you in with them. It never failed. "I've got me thruppence mister...will you take me in?" “The last time I saw the Coronation it was a bingo hall.”

Eels

“The fishmonger was about 8 houses north of 484. The shop was an add-on in front of a rather singular row house. The proprietor was a very friendly man and I would go into his shop and ask him for some oil-paper which was a heavy tracing paper. The fish was wrapped in this and then the package was wrapped in newspaper. I wanted the tracing paper to trace magazine pictures which I would subsequently show to my mother, “Chops”, and claim they were original drawings. No one was fooled. But I developed many variations such as placing the drawing face down on a white piece of paper and rubbing the back to create a reverse image. And I discovered how to enlarge pictures to scale, portraits too, by drawing a grid and transferring it another piece of paper larger than the original. I loved to draw and water colour. When I stated I wanted to grow up to be an artist Leon (my brother) told me it was forbidden for Jews to make a graven image, especially a Cohen. Till my mid-teens I believed there were no Jewish artists! ”

#curatorial

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