Elena Ferrante's The Lying Life of Adults

I begin Elena Ferrante's novels with a mixture of fascination and dread. Fascination, because everything I've read by her has gripped me. Her novels are riveting and her words flow on the pages, moving me along and immersing me in her Italy, her Naples, and her family dramas that she has carefully constructed. Dread, because I know that this immersion will stir up the mud in my own life and memory; it will murky the waters that I think are so clear, and yet when I dive deeper, I know they aren't.

How is it that one person, one writer, can speak to me and to so many people at the same time? She has an uncanny way of getting right to the core of what drives families apart and what keeps them together. She describes the behaviors, utterances and dramas that comprise the push and pull of family life, mostly without judging them, and that is where the fear comes in. Because you know that the behaviors she writes about are real and often violent to the spirit and body. Sometimes she judges them, but only within the contexts of her characters, the ones who want to escape the oppression, claustrophobia, and violence of family life. She allows them to judge, and we follow their attempts to escape, which are seemingly successful, but we know that somewhere down the line, the past will knock on their door and demand its due. At some point, they will face the same situations that they ran from, and come face to face with their early selves—the ones who said that they would never tolerate this or that behavior, the ones who said that they would never behave like their parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents. They experience the human frailties, deceptions, betrayals, frustrations, rage, and even violence (psychological and physical) that can be part of family life. The characters in her books are flawed human beings, like we all are. Perhaps that is part of her appeal. She explains some parts of our lives for us; I know she does that for me. I finish her novels thinking, yes, that helps to explain this or that family member’s behavior, or utterances, or bizarre points of view.

Everyone lies in Ferrante’s novels. Adults lie, but so do children and teenagers. The Lying Life of Adults is really the story of how teenagers become adults who lie to themselves and to others. It is the story of how we become the adults we profess to hate. Giovanna, the main character who is a teenager, is acutely aware of the hypocritical behavior of the adults in her life. She has two friends she confides in, Angela and Ida, the daughters of her parents’ friends Mariano and Costanza. Her attempt to develop a relationship with her hated aunt Vittoria, her father’s sister, has far-reaching repercussions for her parents, her parents’ friends, involved children, and her own life. Vittoria is a destructive force of nature. She is (presumably) the opposite of Giovanna’s educated, intellectual and refined father, Andrea, who hates his coarse uneducated sister (the feeling is mutual), and yet, that is what Ferrante wants to show us, that at their core, both Vittoria and Andrea are the same. They are egotists and liars, they think nothing of destroying others’ lives by wanting what they want (Vittoria wanted Enzo--the husband of her friend Margherita, and Andrea wanted Costanza—the wife of his friend Mariano). They justify their betrayals of spouses and families and lie to themselves about how ‘noble’ their intentions are. Nella, Andrea’s wife, is crushed by his betrayal and their eventual divorce, but tries to live her life following the divorce as best she can. Mariano, who has cheated on Costanza often, is also lost; eventually Nella and Mariano find each other despite Nella’s protests to the contrary. Giovanna is witness to all of these happenings. At the same time, she becomes friends with Vittoria (who worshipped Enzo), Margherita, and Margherita’s children (Corrado, Tonino, and Giuliana). Vittoria dominates Margherita and her children’s lives; she tells them how to live and what to do and not to do. The relationship between Vittoria and Margherita is strange and one I found hard to understand, but for the purposes of the book, I accepted it. But I know very few people in real life who would have become friends with their husbands’ mistresses.

Vittoria brought to the surface memories of my father’s eldest sister Carmela, who was also not much-liked in my family. Unlike Vittoria, she was considered to be good-looking; she was a refined woman with many intellectual and cultural interests. But she was a drama queen, and no family gathering ever ended pleasantly when she was present. She was unhappily married to one of my father’s childhood friends, which didn’t help matters. My father probably felt pressured to take sides, and he took his sister’s side against his friend. My mother and my aunt did not get along at all; my mother found her domineering, controlling, and nosy. Carmela and her husband eventually divorced; she lived alone afterward until she died, but did have a lover whom she could have married but chose not to. After one too many unpleasant family gatherings when we were children, my father and mother decided not to see her anymore, and by extension, we were not to see her either. After my father died, my sister and I made an effort to re-establish contact with her. We found her to be a decent person, but of course by that time she was old and in a different frame of mind. I think she was happy to see us again, but our lives were busy and we didn’t see her often. She died eight years after my father.

I could relate to those feelings that Ferrante describes—remaining loyal to parents while wondering why we all couldn’t just get along, and feeling guilty for wanting to have some kind of relationship with my aunt. My aunt made an effort to remember our birthdays with gifts and cards, but they were never well-received, and eventually she ceased to make the effort. I remember when my grandmother died, I was around twelve or so. Frustrations and anger came to the surface, people said things they probably regretted, and the war only intensified. It was difficult to deal with all those feelings as a child. But I knew even then that this kind of family life was oppressive and claustrophobic, and I wanted no part of it. And for the most part, I have managed to escape it, but not without many mistakes and poor decisions of my own before I got to a place in life with which I could be comfortable. Reading Ferrante reminds me of my early family life, and it’s a mixed blessing, as I wrote at the beginning of this post—I am fascinated by what she manages to stir up in me, and fearful of it at the same time. Like a moth to the flame, as the old saying goes. I know I will get burned. Unlike the moth, I survive being burned, but it is a strange experience nonetheless.

 

Memories and the concept of time

Twenty years ago today, March 4, 2001, my mother passed away. Thirty-six years ago, March 7, 1985, my father passed away. Twenty years ago and thirty-six years ago. It seems so long ago, these parcels of years, and yet sometimes they seem like artificial constructs to help me locate my memories. They contribute to the reality of memory. Sometimes the past seem so real, as though it is right there in front of me. The people in that past are gone, but the memories of them are not. The memories are vivid and real. The concept of time and the reality of memory are intertwined. I cannot explain the connection, but I don't think one exists without the other. It is when I begin to consider and reflect upon memory, that I also begin to reflect upon the concept of time. No one can or has satisfactorily answered the question--what is time? We say that time is linear, because it apparently keeps moving us forward. But is it really linear? The Oxford online dictionary defines time as the "indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole". It's a vague definition, but it's a starting point for reflection. 

It was not until I started working in a garden that I became aware of the reality that time is also circular. Or perhaps better put, a garden manifests circular time within the human concept of linear time, if that is possible. Our gardens have no memory, they just do what they do independent of the human concept of linear time. A gardener plants seeds, watches them grow into mature flowers that produce seeds, the annual flowers die, become compost and then soil again, which is used for next season's garden, as are the seeds. It's a cycle that continues annually in perpetuity, starting in spring, continuing into summer and fall, then winter, and then back to spring. It can continue in this way for many years, given the right conditions. Perennial plants come back each year barring a natural disaster--the same plant, just new stems and new growth. The actual plants don't really die. It's the closest thing to immortality that we may be witness to on this earth. Do we know why they come back, year after year? Apparently there is no specific lifespan for plants, except for the annuals. The annual plants must be seeded anew. But eventually, even perennial plants die, as do our house plants that can live for decades given the right conditions. Death comes to all living things. 

I remember my parents, sitting in their living room in the apartment where I grew up, reading in the evenings. I remember my mother feeding the birds from her kitchen window each morning. I remember eating breakfast before we left for school, listening to 'Rambling with Gambling' on the radio. I remember commuting to and from Manhattan for several years with my father, and meeting him for lunch in Manhattan. I remember my father's illnesses and knowing we would lose him; I 'saw' and 'knew' the future. I remember shopping with my mother and driving around lower Westchester County with her on one of our many fun car rides. I remembering seeing a future without her and how painful it would be to lose her too. I remember my brother, who is dead six years as of this writing. I did not 'see' his death coming. They have been dead for many years, but they remain in my memory. All those memories of beloved people, places and experiences co-exist. And that is what I wonder about. Memories are dependent upon functioning brain neurons that transmit electrical signals to other neurons via synapses. Without neurons and neural networks, there are no memories. Plants do not have neurons, so they do not have memories, and so no concept of time, or none that they are 'aware' of. We have them, and so we have memories. But how and where are those memories truly situated in time? Or can we even ask those questions?

There are some physicists who theorize that time as we know it is not real, that it is simply a construct devised to help us differentiate between the present and our perception of the past. The 'block universe' theory, as their theory is called, can be summarized as follows. "The theory, which is backed up by Einstein’s theory of relativity, states that space and time are part of a four dimensional structure where everything that has happened has its own coordinates in spacetime" (Time is NOT real – Physicists show EVERYTHING happens at the same time | Science | News | Express.co.uk). In this theory, all our past experiences co-exist simultaneously with all our present and future experiences. If that is the case, there is no 'time', at least not as we define it. Stated in a different way: "Your birth is out there in space-time. Your death, too, is in space-time. Every moment of your life is out there, somewhere, in space-time. So says the block universe model of our world" (The block universe theory, where time travel is possible but time passing is an illusion - ABC News). What made the strongest impression upon me from the second article was reading that "Everything is relative: what is past to you, will be future to someone else. So if I travel back to the past I'm travelling to what is someone else's future. That means the past won't be any different, in kind, to the present." 

My brain seems able to grasp these concepts, however briefly. But they are also confusing. The philosophy and science involved in these concepts can seem overwhelming. In the end, they are mysteries that may or may not be elucidated in my lifetime. I hope however that they will be. I also hope that one day there could be time travel between the coordinates in the block universe. How cool that would be, to be able to visit 'a past moment with loved ones who are now gone', or even in another context, visit a 'future you'. How that would come to pass is anyone's guess. I don't see it happening for several more centuries. And yet sci-fi writers have written about time travel for years. They could visualize the future, at least one they 'saw', and committed that vision to paper. We who exist now were the future to their present, but we are also the past to someone else. It makes sense, and then it doesn't. But I like the idea that all the constructs of time exist equally and simultaneously. 

Television shows from the 1960s and 1970s

We watched all of these television shows as children and teenagers growing up in the 1960s and 1970s. Looking at them all from today's vantage point, I'd say that these decades were the golden age of television. And when I compare the television offerings on regular channels today to the shows from  these decades, I'd have to say that the shows on regular channels (linear tv) cannot hold a candle to the old shows. Most of what passes for tv entertainment on the regular channels at present is a wasteland. Streaming channels like Netflix and HBO have supplanted the regular channels, and they are far and away a better deal in terms of watching good films and series. 

Here are some of the shows we watched, enjoyed, and sometimes loved:

1960s shows

• Bewitched 
• Bonanza
• Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons
• Flipper
• Get Smart
• Gilligan's Island
• Gomer Pyle USMC
• Green Acres
• Hogan's Heroes
• I Spy
• Land of the Giants
• Leave It to Beaver
• Maya
• My Favorite Martian 
• My Three Sons
• Petticoat Junction
• Star Trek: The Original Series
• That Girl
• The Addams Family
• The Andy Griffith Show
• The Avengers
• The Dick Van Dyke Show
• The Beverly Hillbillies
• The Donna Reed Show
• The Flintstones
• The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
• The Lucy Show
• The Munsters
• The Prisoner
• The Twilight Zone

1970s shows

• All in the Family
• Columbo
• Kojak
• Kolchak: The Night Stalker 
• M*A*S*H
• Night Gallery
• Quincy, M.E.
• Sanford and Son
• The Bob Newhart Show
• The Brady Bunch
• The Mary Tyler Moore Show
• The Partridge Family
• The Rockford Files
• The Six Million Dollar Man
• The Streets of San Francisco
• The Waltons
• WKRP in Cincinnati

Trying to find sanity

Someone should develop this as an app, it would be a rather apt app, especially in these pandemic times. 😀  

A year of the pandemic

Mid-March will mark the one-year anniversary of the month in 2020 when life as we knew it came to a grinding halt. Normalcy disappeared, replaced by uncertainty and a fair amount of gloom and doom. People were told to work from home if they could. Day-care centers closed, likewise most schools and universities. Restaurants, bars, theaters, movie theaters, malls and shops also closed. Plane travel ceased, as did international travel. Supermarkets remained open, as did shops deemed essential for the daily lives of men and women. Norway did not institute a curfew, but all of the above closings constituted a lockdown of society, however partial. 

When the pandemic first began, my husband and I were glued to all the news programs we could find about the coronavirus. We watched the news religiously, and read the rapidly multiplying scientific articles about the virus. We wanted to learn as much about it as we could. Norwegian immunology and virology experts weighed in with their opinions. Politicians and health officials collaborated on a daily basis. I watched Andrew Cuomo and Anthony Fauci in the USA update the public on the latest about the virus and the numbers of people infected as well as the number of deaths. Intensive care units in hospitals were overwhelmed, as were funeral homes. The media photos of mass burials around the world will stay in my mind for always. 

There was nowhere to go, so we went nowhere. We ordered food delivered to our home from time to time. I stocked up on face masks in anticipation of the coming winter; I knew the pandemic would not be over by then. Last March, however, I had a different kind of hope than I do now. Having never experienced a pandemic before, I went into it, probably like many others, with expectations that the scientists would have it covered and that it might also just die out like the flu viruses often do after wintertime. But the infection rate of this virus didn't seem to wax and wane with the seasons. It worsened after vacation times, whether it was summer vacation, autumn vacation, or Christmas vacation. 

The pandemic was the year that Trump got louder and louder, and grew bigger and bigger until he finally burst. He lost the presidential election, refused to accept that loss, and fomented a rebellion and a capitol invasion that will forever in my mind be linked to the year of the pandemic. People lost their minds, literally, and followed an unstable man into an unstable and divided future. 

I worked from home, and found out that I enjoyed it, until I realized that it might be a permanent situation. But I stayed focused and got my work done, usually by 3 pm each day. That left time in March for watching the HBO series My Brilliant Friend, which I looked forward to watching each day like I used to do when I followed specific soap operas on television many moons ago. When April came, I went to work in my garden after my workday was done. That got me outdoors and kept me physically active and busy so I had no time to think about the virus. It stayed that way until early November, when the garden was closed for the winter. And then came Christmas, followed by the months of January and February which I liken to a wasteland for all they contribute to my life at present. But we are healthy so I can't complain. As the one-year anniversary approaches, I am also glad for Netflix and HBO--for all the movies and series they offer--some of them excellent. There is always something to watch on the streaming channels, unlike regular television channels that are a complete wasteland and waste of time. I also have mostly given up listening to the news--it's depressing and keeps us stuck in the same mindset.

I've realized that having a garden and being to work in it from April until November kept me sane. It got me outdoors together with my fellow gardeners, and we could chat with each other at safe distances. No one took any stupid chances; we behaved and followed the rules for not getting infected. It worked. I am grateful for my garden because it saved me. It provided peace of mind when I could not find it anywhere else. Besides the activities one has to do in a garden in order for it to flourish, the garden let me think of other things, like why did the honeybees gather at the birdbath to drink water. At times there were twenty or thirty of them lined up on the rim of the birdbath. It was an incredible sight to behold, and I loved it. Or the day when the sparrows decided to bathe together en masse in the birdbath--chirping and flapping their wings while enjoying their bath. And then they would all fly away together, and then fly back to the birdbath together. It was truly a communal bee- and bird-bath last summer. 

I bring this up now because I cannot wait to be able to get back to my garden this year. January and February have had me climbing the walls of our apartment. It was bitter cold for most of January, so going outdoors was a chore. I did so anyway since the sun shone and the days were lovely. But cold it was. Just being outdoors kept me sane, even if I froze doing it. But I miss the interactions with other people. Humans are not made for isolation. I went back to work more during the past few months, despite the continued recommendation to work from home. I needed to see co-workers in person. I discovered that I hate zoom meetings and most things digital as far as work-related activities are concerned. I want real-life people that I can physically relate to in real-time, not virtual. I would prefer a room full of masked people that had gathered for a meeting, rather than a zoom meeting. My heart goes out to all those who live alone; it must be difficult whether you are young or old. I feel for students and young people whose social lives have been severely restricted. And yet, what else is there to look forward to if we don't follow the rules? My sense of hope has changed; it is tinged with a sorrow for mankind in case life never really returns to normal. I hope it does, but you never know. And some of that sorrow is for myself, since I never for one moment considered that my yearly trip to NY would disappear last summer and most likely this summer. I miss the other life I have in NY with my good friends and my family. 

I feel for people who don't have a haven, a refuge to go to, to get away from the news, the virus, the regulations and restrictions, the slow vaccination process, the new virus mutant variants, the constant talk about how many people are infected and how many have died. It's all too much, and it overwhelms the mind. I've talked to several people about fuzzy brain function lately, due to the anxiety and stress of living with the pandemic day in and day out. One can only hope that it comes to an end very soon.