Observables #33
on light and dark and embracing the complicated
Brendon Goodmurphy is my guest today. He’s a Canadian writer based in Berlin. His fiction, poetry and non-fiction engage with issues of queer love, spirituality, and ecology. He holds an MFA in creative writing from the University of British Columbia, and is currently working on his first novel.
The light streaming in through my window, which isn’t an entirely happy story. Like most people in a northern climate, I’m excited for spring and the little brightness it might bring to these dark days.
But the unhappy side of this story—of the syrupy light that drenches my couch and desk and shelves of books in something sweet and thick—has its beginning in the early days of winter, when a work crew parked out front and proceeded to dismantle the old, huge tree outside our window. I was heartbroken. It was, no lie, one of my favourite features of this Berlin apartment. I felt as though we lived inside a treehouse. It protected the room from hot, summer sun and gave us privacy. Our cat, Stella, would watch the birds for hours. Its removal felt like a violation.
Still, over winter, with all the trees bare, the impact hasn’t been so immediate. But I know that soon enough, as the rest of the city turns leafy and green, the view from my living room will become a constant reminder of that great beauty they cut down. So I’m excited for spring, but it’s a bit complicated this year.
My partner loves Virginia Woolf, so for his birthday I got him this gorgeous collection of her major works published by Penguin. I tried picking up Mrs. Dalloway several times over the years, but never made it past the first pages. Last year, I was finally able to finish it. More recently, I read To the Lighthouse. Now, I’m making a project of working through her oeuvre, slowly, over time.
The truth is, I find Woolf challenging to read. We are constantly jumping from one character’s head to another, sometimes mid paragraph, without warning. And there’s only so much I can relate to the post-WWI anxieties of bourgeois England. But the sentences are divine, and Woolf lulls you into a comforting and hypnotic rhythm. Learning to read Virginia Woolf is a lesson in letting go of control and the need to understand everything, and allowing yourself to be washed over with beautiful words. It opens you to an experience that is so much bigger.
My new, corduroy turquoise shirt! Or is it teal? I can never be sure, even though it’s my favourite colour. It brightens my spirits on these grey Berlin days and makes me feel cozy. My husband had some Christmas money and decided to buy himself a new sweater, and well, I got jealous. I haven’t actually bought myself new clothes in the two-and-a-half years since moving to Berlin.
The shirt is from Portuguese Flannel. The first time I laid eyes on it was in Madrid many months ago when visiting my partner’s family. It was in a cute men’s shop in the narrow streets of Malasaña, and my eyes (and hands) went straight for it. Then I saw the price tag, so back it went onto the rack and out of my mind. Until recently, when I found it online and on sale. And now it takes all of me not to wear it every single day, knowing soon that it will be too warm.
This week on Sister On! we interview a Sharon Glassman about reframing introversion. It was a fun conversation!
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A helpful line and observation, ‘A lesson in letting go of control and the need to understand everything’. Good point.