Upon John Irving’s suggestion, I have now read Robertson Davies. I can see why Irving loves him, with his cerebral wit and scholarly dialogue (even though that’s not quite what Irving writes.) Davies was an Anglican, a scholar, an actor, a man of letters….. all with a beautiful command of the language that walks a fine line between superstition and religion.
The 1,152 pages of The Cornish Trilogy are not so impressive knowing it’s actually three books in one. I won’t do that again. Should’ve read other authors between. I’m a slow reader. It took about 3 months to get through, with several magazines peppered throughout. By the end, I just wanted to get it over with, much like my college degree. But glad I finished both!
With this trilogy I made one amazing achievement though. In college I thought I was lacking the intelligence to remember uncommonly used words. It insulted the word nerd in me. I thought I must be dumber than some. About 2 years ago I realized that I don’t remember uncommon words because they are not useful when communicating in everyday situations, in the grocery store or up at the elementary school. We get made fun of as children for trying more than 3 syllables or proper French pronunciations. Kids know how to put a 4-eyes in her proper place.
After about 200 pages, and looking up definitions and pronunciations for 30 or so words on my laptop, I could tell that I was retaining the definitions better than usual. (I looked up sublime five times in college before I could remember the meaning - because I couldn’t imagine a situation when I’d use it, not that I’d want to anyway.) I realized that I no longer really care what others think if I use a good vocabulary. Literally, my need to comfort and connect on the same level with others has kept me from committing definitions to memory. But the decision not to care so much has opened up a mental block and is allowing me to remember the definitions!
By the way, I most enjoyed the second of the 3 stories which could be read exclusively of the other two, What’s Bred in the Bone. I enjoy fake biographies, but I’ll bet there’s a proper word for that.
