Over the course of the past year or so, I’ve found my
reading choices have changed. I used to be largely a reader of novels, with a
little poetry on the side. Short fiction I have always struggled with, and
non-fiction books occupy only a tiny space in my library. In fact non-fiction
was something I read when I had a problem I needed to solve, and then only in
parts and extracts. Then something happened, I’m not sure what. Suddenly I
discovered an interest in nature writing, diaries and memoirs. Those of you who
have followed my blog even a little will already know my obsession with
Jansson, one of the great but under-rated writers of the last century. So you
can imagine my joy when I discovered her memoir, which wraps up nature, Jansson
and memoirs all in one.
The Sculptor’s Daughter follows a very Jansson-esque style.
The book comprises a series of short stories, each one self contained yet
linked in some manner or other to the others so that the whole feels like a…well…a
whole! In it Jansson takes her childhood self and casts her as the protagonist
of each episode, using biographical elements to draw out some aspect of her
childhood upbringing or some observation of childhood or human nature. Her
parents figure heavily in the stories, as does nature and her island and her
early relationship with ‘Art’ which had a heavy influence on everything that
followed. Yet each story is magical in its own way, honest, wise and
unflinching in its gaze. Jansson does not try, in any way, to cast herself as
the perfect child. Instead she is wilful, jealous, sometimes nasty, opinionated
and suspicious. In other words, like most children though blessed, perhaps,
with a somewhat less orthodox upbringing. She covers a range of interesting stories on
subjects from the dark to dressing up, Christmas, females and pets, flotsam and
jetsam, the discovery of a shiny stone that almost makes the family fortune (but
ruins the stairs instead).
What is special about Jansson’s writing is how she can
create so much from seemingly so little, and is able to present her memoirs in
a fresh and authentically child-like voice whilst maintaining a piercing vision.
Despite, or perhaps because of, this childlikeness, the stories contain Jansson’s
customary wisdom and insight into human nature. And they are charming, so so
charming. Like here in her chapter about Albert, a childhood friend. The two
have just finished building a raft and are sailing out to sea:
“It was slow work
paddling but we got going. We reached deep water, but that we all right because
we had both nearly learned to swim. After a while we entered the sound near Red
Rock.”
Jansson, as always shows herself to be a master of the short
form. She displays a disturbing ability to set tone in a few short sentences.
Like here, from the chapter ‘Snow’ that describes a short period in which she
and her mother spend some time in a strange house which Jansson clearly didn’t
like.
“When we got to the
strange house it began to snow in quite a different way. A mass of tired old
clouds opened and flung snow at us, all of a sudden, and just anyhow. They
weren’t ordinary snowflakes, they fell straight down in large sticky lumps,
they clung to each other and sank quickly and they weren’t white, but grey. The
whole world was as heavy as lead.”
or here, in the chapter ‘The Dark’
“At the waxworks you
can see how easy it is to smash people to pieces. They can be crushed, torn in
half or sawn into little bit. Nobody is safe and therefore it is terribly
important to find a hiding-place in time.”
The Sculptor’s Daughter receives a wide-eyed with awe 10 out
of 10 Biis.
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