"CAll the Midwife," My Review of Jennifer Worth's Memoir

R                           Review of “CALL THE MIDWIFE, Jennifer Worth’s Memoir

                                                                              By

                                                               Loretta Paraguassu

        Reaching the last page of this engrossing memoir is like walking away from a neighborhood where you have settled in and become part of people’s lives. Worth carefully stitches together her experiences as a midwife living in the 1950s with nuns who gave their lives to God and to child-bearing women in the poverty-stricken east side of London.

        The reader rides with Jennie Lee on her bicycle through the neighborhoods and learns – in detail – what it was like and what she encountered. She also schools us on the details of her practice – the  instruments she used, how babies were delivered then, the long hours she spent and the emotional involvement it took.

        Having watched a number of “Call the Midwife” episodes produced for television by PBS – based on the book, of course – there were any number of “oh, that’s what it really meant” or “now I understand why that person reacted the way he or she did” – awakenings after plowing through the book. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was as simple and straightforward as the TV rendition would have you believe.

        It would be wrong to say that the PBS version does the book a disservice. However, the depth of the characters and their motivations are clearly impossible to communicate in scenes that flicker past in rapid rotation. It took courage to attempt as ambitious a project this one and the television version does an excellent job of bringing Worth’s world back to life.

        For instance, there were more shocks and surprises about babies that were born black – and one that might have been black. We get a picture of immigrants coming into the neighborhoods and repercussions in personal lives. It’s a very interesting part of history that is rarely explored. With the luxury of more time and space, the written version presents this issue in a way that explains the bigger picture.

        There are also revelations that some of the glitzy, romantic scenes we see on the television screen weren’t based on the original book. (Surprise?) The relationship between Jennie Lee and Jimmy? Don’t look for it in the memoir. Chummy and her romance with the constable? Also, not to be found. Even the girls going out to a dance together -- if it happened, Worth wasn’t sharing. Some of it is “prettified” and probably has to be for the sake of keeping an audience on board.

       The very dramatic kidnapping of a baby by a young woman Irish woman named Mary is powerful on-screen. Once again, the depth of Mary’s story is far more powerful in the book. The reader is given insights into her background and her relationship with Jennie Lee that television simply doesn’t have the time or structure to present.

       Worth’s book is, indeed, a very well-written, page turner. It’s hard to say it’s “better“ than the television series. It comes down to simply being a different animal. Anyone who has enjoyed the television series should enjoy the book – and vice versa.

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The Great Meryl Streep Tosses a Crumb to Women Writers

There was a big to-do about Meryl Streep funding an "older" women's screenwriting lab. There was a big announcement at the Tribeca Film Festival.

Actual Queen Meryl Streep Has Funded a Screenwriting Workshop for Women Over 40

Women make up about 29% of TV writers and a miserable 15% of film writers, and you know who's...

 

 

It turns out that older to Ms. Streep is over 40. Great. In the real world that's not very old at all.

 

Then, we have to take into account that only eight -- numeral 8 -- women will be chosen. And exactly what kind of impact is that supposed to have?

 

 Actually, that's pretty pathetic and not likely to net much in the long run. I'm disappointed -- but not surprised. The fact that this famous and successful actress has lent her name to the cause IS a big deal, but still...shouldn't there be more?

 

Who else is going to stand up and make a gesture? I'm reading all kinds of notices about actors and actresses selling their New York properties for multi-millions. No give-back.

Kudos to Selma, the film

SEEING SELMA:


     Let's set the scene -- The theater is one of those comfortable, new theaters with waiters who come to your seat and serve you food and drinks. It's plush and the screen is close and clear.

     Although we had menus, neither I nor the two friends I was with ever pushed the button for service. We hadn't had dinner, but the drama on the screen was too intense. We didn't want to miss a word, a phrase or a gesture.

     I'm so glad I didn't go alone. It's that much of an emotional experience. When it was going on, I knew people involved in the march -- and even considered going. Wow! As I watched the crowd scenes -- I was struck by the fact that there seemed to be more women than men.

     The people with me who had been close to the movement nodded when I mentioned this. Yes, it was true. It's hard to sort it all out. Hard to believe that the racists could be such horrible animals. What kind of a man beats up mothers and grandmothers? No soul, no soul at all.

      Are there still racists? Oh, yeah. The hope, and I have said this before, is that they are dying out and that our younger generations recognize the reality: We are all biologically the same. No skin color is superior.

     If there could be mandatory viewing, I would wish that everyone would see this film -- to know what happened, to feel it to the bone.

     An irony in the name of the film is a close personal connection -- My mother's name was Selma. On top of that, my parents were married in Selma, Alabama during WWII because my father was stationed there.  The name "Selma" rings in my ears.

Living in a State That Kills

It's a rainy, sad day. Last night the State of Georgia murdered a man, they substitute another word, but it's murder and it fills me with grief that this happens regularly. This man was guilty of killing someone -- but he was also a war hero and damaged by his experiences in the service of his country. He was taught to kill! Shame on Georgia. Shame, shame, shame!

We are barbarians and much of the civilized world recognizes us as such. In this and so many other ways, we do not deserve to consider ourselves part of the group of first world countries -- even if we do have a mega-rich class and lots of weapons we are able to hoard. Not civilized enough. Not hardly.

It makes my heart ache as I look out into the wintry fog and feel old and tired.

Is the problem really about race or is it about our culture?

     What has been going around in my head today is a reaction to a facebook post by someone I deeply respect. He didn't want to hear any more about the reactions to the killings of black young men and the lack of judicial response.

      It was a jolt to me. I started thinking -- this is not just about black males. It is much more than that. When my two sons were teenagers, there was a gathering of their friends in our suburban kitchen. Someone commented that everyone in my house -- except for me -- had been arrested -- even our dog. None of the boys were criminal types. (The dog was bailed out -- he had been a hero protecting a young woman who was being attacked.)

     We live in an environment where police are overly zealous. For example, I don't drink, but I was stopped for not having my headlights on.  The police woman was clearly disappointed that she couldn't get me on a DUI. What is going on? Years ago, a cop would have politely advised this grandmotherly person that she needed to turn her lights on. Instead, I faced a hefty fine and a trip to court that took most of my day.

     On the highways, there are towns that make their budgets by catching speeders. And they're famous for it. All these little infractions bring in money, too. And there are the prisons that are for profit enterprises. Far too many people are locked up for too long, many of them for little or no cause. Money, money, money.

     It strikes me that the police who are sent out to do the dirty work are patsies. They don't get paid much, they're in the line of danger and many people hate them for what they do. What is all this about? Abroad we are the policemen of the Western World. At home, we're selling military equipment to our towns and cities.

     NRA mentality has gone much too far. When we look in the mirror, we are not a pretty sight.
To claim we are civilized, we must make sure that we are.

Margaret Bowland's Paintings Pull on the Heartstrings

 

                                                       Painting by Margaret Bowland

New York artist Margaret Bowland stood in front of a mesmerized capacity audience at Alan Avery's gallery in Buckhead yesterday. The shock for those who were not familiar with her was that Bowland is white and paints as if she has crawled inside the skin of a black woman and felt the pain.

Her message to listeners was that she uses white makeup not to deny color, but rather to draw attention to the undue notice that is taken of it. She grew up in the South and saw the segregated drinking fountains -- and all the rest of what went with them -- and was conscious very early at how wrong it is to treat people that way.

However, Bowland underlines that is not just color that is the problem, it is the way women are treated. She pointed to the expectations posited with the concept of a woman becoming a wife. In particular, Bowland emphasized the sacrifices that a woman is supposed to make.

Further, she examines the burdens that have, historically, been put on children. In one of her paintings, a crown of cotton with its thorns is symbolic of those trials.

And, why she asks, should women of African descent put extensions on their hair? Pointing to her own hair that hangs down, she asked her audience why that should be considered any better. She has her model pulling out hair extensions with a very determined expression on her face.

Besides the messages in Bowland's work, there is the awesome beauty she has captured. She is a portrait artist of enormous skill. Instead of seeking to mimic modern techniques, she sought out the secrets of the masters. It wasn't easy, she said. The information wasn't readily available.

The result? Exquisite images with a rare depth of emotion. Bowland is a modern master of her craft...or should we say mistress? In our world, women still have to struggle to get their due.

It would be no surprise to find museums waking up and scrambling to collect her work. Several museums have already acquired a few treasures. Living in Atlanta, I would, personally, love to see  examples of Bowland's portraits on display in the High Museum.

The Margaret Bowland exhibit at Alan Avery Art Company will be on display through Jan. 17, 2015.

                                                            Artist Margaret Bowland

                                 Margaret Bowland (2nd from L), Alan Avery (2nd from the R)
                                                  

COMCAST'S LITTLE WHITE LIE -- and LOTS OF NERVE!

    An interesting little event this morning: I found my internet and landline were both out. Comcast was down. I was frustrated at not being able to check my messages and start my business day, so I called on my cell and got a message that Comcast services would not be restored until after 1 p.m.

    Then...a friend called me on my cell and said that she had tried my landline first -- only to get a message telling her that Loretta was not taking calls until noon. THAT WAS COMCAST LEAVING A MESSAGE FOR ME! THAT I WAS NOT TAKING CALLS! Not that Comcast was DOWN!!!

    In fact, I do not have a message on my landline at all. What corporate nerve.

    It's very interesting that this episode coincided with Pres. Obama's interest in making net neutrality the law of the land.
I'm sure Comcast executives were in a bad mood anyway, maybe
someone threw a tantrum and hit the wrong switches. I'm not sure it's possible -- but it would play well as the drama of the day.