I've been reading Real Estate by Deborah Levy, the sequel to Cost of Living (or is it Cost of Loving?). Remains a great title in my mind, either way. Meanwhile I've requested and borrowed out everything she's written, and it's a lot. I recommended her to my friend and new book club of two and she's reading her too, I'm impressed.
Last night I dropped off the eldest at orchestra practice and parked behind Schultz in a 15 minute zone, so I could collect a book reservation-Hilary McPhee, Other People's Lives, which includes her setting up McPhee Gribble and publishing Monkey Grip. The youngest was so delighted by the library, that we returned to the car and grabbed his book so he, too, could enjoy the delight of a reading room. I deliberately tested spatial awareness by setting a small challenge of finding the library a second time, without me, and they did, walking past the observatory building and the small child care, which had a nice vibe, and where identical twins greeted us from the fence, he surprised to learn he'd once been that small. Earlier he'd given a school friend a t-shirt for their birthday, and received a sincere hug, a meeting of curious minds, where intellect exceeds social skills. The things my youngest talks about-green government, cost of houses, hospitals that charge fees, how even friendship costs money, the cost of loving, the purpose of taxes, all comprehended a decade earlier than myself and I'm glad he has a sense of justice, but want to liberate him from buckling under it's weight.
The day before I'd asked my current placement supervisor, when he'd realised he wasn't saving the world, and he talked about the trajectory of professional practice, the first year when you're drowning under the weight, and then the period where you're confident enough to do a lot more, bullet proof almost, then you have kids and need boundaries and realise that you have 50 minutes of influence.
Aeons ago, I worked with a lovely guy, Angelo, who was so good looking (from the perspective of a 22-year-old living in a new city and homesick) that I couldn't make conversation with him without getting self-conscious about my hands. I didn't have a crush on him, but I felt paralysed about what to say and do. He was also an expatriate, the child of Greek migrants, smart enough to study science/law, working in physics but so much more socially adept, living in a random rental but on his pathway to investments and property ownership, a self-made man. The nicest thing though was his kindness-he had a sophistication to his dress, and the maturity to be inclusive of all the females in his workplace, knowing how to sprinkle his flirtations safely, platonically and appropriately across the department, never creating rivalry or confusion. He asked me out socially several times without success (despite shyness, I also considered him a bimbo), and to my bemusement, he secretly pursued two others I worked with, as well as asking me to the Xmas dinner. I was thinking of him now, how I under-estimated his intelligence, and kindess, and how much I wish more males were like him. The last time I saw him, he asked after another then-friend, and I realised I'd made more social impact that I'd realised at the time. In the pursuit of professional goals, we travelled overseas and moved cities and lost touch, which makes that time at Royal North Shore seem especially precious now, the train line through Wollestonecraft and crossed the bridge, the brown brick buildings that ran along Herbert St, how our work spaces overlooked the childcare centre, and we could always tell who was pregnant because we could see them visiting to apply for a place, how I arranged for the preschoolers to visit and perform songs to the patients in the waiting room, the work dinners we'd have in Crows Nest, a plethora of choices, and the variation of unit blocks, thirties era villas and high rise towers emerging. It was a grounding place in a bigger city, and the staff group were family orientated, and intergenerational. Ben was the eligible bachelor, superficially friendly to everyone, but private and contained, only I was invited to the inner circle of his private world, meeting the friends who drank together on Friday nights on a quiet pub in the CBD, sleeping in his spare bed, teasing him about his lack of books and large collection of CDs. I liked returning to Sydney last year and filling in the blanks-catching the ferry to Neutral Bay, visiting May Gibbs house, understanding the medical establishment, embracing the walkability. Maybe I'll return again, for a longer season. Next holiday though, I'll avoid the wet season.
My friend Penny grew up there, but settled in Adelaide at the age of 40, after her children's needs required a return to Australia; her upbringing was on the northern beaches, albeit inland, where she attended the local high school, took a gap year, returned with a sense of confidence and identity that helped her live lightly; by the time we met she'd graduated and was doing professional service jobs at the university, living in a share house with Gareth that forgot to pay the rent, and on the verge of moving to Japan with Dave, which led to many goals being achieved (marriage, public service leadership roles, kids and architecturally designed family homes). The good thing about Penny is it's low key-she's happy to wear tracksuit pants and sneakers in public, she enjoys parenting and knowing her children, there isn't a status conscious edge to her. Life is comfortable, materially, but money isn't talked about, in the way that other circles do. There's a broader horizon, as well as a small horizon.
In Real Estate, Levy has to go to New York to pack up her step mother's apartment, and all her shoes, reminding me of Anne's house and how hard it was to claim my space, I let others do the work, which meant I didn't assert or have my voice included in decision making-the only real regret I have is not getting the couches, which admittedly were fucking uncomfortable to sit on, but they were yellow and velvet and looked good in a sentimental way if your eye is shaped by seventies suburban values. I've since found out that it was the opening of Flinders University, that caused the southern suburbs to be a bit more progressive, and I kind of regret not putting myself out there more to attend some of the cultural events and exhibitions over the years, but gee, I can't find the energy for many more relevant things than that. It's on my mind because at the moment I'm on placement at Tonsley and get to walk around the 'innovation' centre, which used to be the Mitsubishi plant and it is cool and I did like the performance art/music thingo that Dexter and co did, and I would move down that way if I could, or if I no longer wanted to live where I live, which I like. I like the garden at school, and the bike path home.
Interestingly, I'd said to work Jess, about something or other, "Be Like Ghandi", having been reminded recently of his ground breaking work of 'non violent protest', and then like that, saw that some of the parkland protestors have used that intentional approach, and Deborah Levy, on a literature conference in Bombay, takes the time to visit his museum, and returns with recipes that I want to be mine, like guava icecream or dhal for breakfast.
What Real Estate, the book, is about is the older female that is single and no longer validated by males, or resident in houses bankrolled by males, she refers to a male writer her age, belittling her successes, as though all female writers are tenants in his land. It reminded me of how I bowed down and didn't notice my achievements, thinking less of my $1000 writing grant than the $60 a friend earnt when he was published (but I'd already earnt more than that, when published in equivalent circles), or having already secured a graduate job with tenure, leave entitlements and being financially emancipated, compared to my flatmate doing a PhD they didn't enjoy and whose rent and lifestyle were financed by family; or recently, having a younger colleague insist 12 years on one industry was better than 20 years in diverse portfolios. No-one else will validate you if you can't validate yourself.
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