[Comments] Girl Meets Boy by Ali Smith

[Fillyjonk]

FEBRUARY Beginning in 2005, Independent Scottish publishing house CANONGATE has released a series of myths retold by contemporary authors of note. Luminaries including Margaret Atwood, A. S. Byatt, Su Tong, Alexander McCall Smith, Philip Pullman, and Jeanette Winterson have loaned their pens to this endeavor, and this month we will be reading Ali Smith's 2007 entry in the series. GIRL MEETS BOY is a gender-bent, joyful, sly, exuberant---and at 176 pages, quite short--- "remix" of The Fable of Iphis and Ianthe from Ovid's Metamorphoses. The original is the tale of a girl raised as a boy who grows up to fall desperately in love with another girl. You guys. Can you even imagine? Ovid couldn't, actually, but Smith manages in a tale that PUBLISHER'S WEEKLY described as cheerful, sexy, disorienting. FROM THE PUBLISHER Synopsis: From the astonishingly talented writer of The Accidental and Hotel World comes Ali Smith’s brilliant retelling of Ovid’s gender-bending myth of Iphis and Ianthe, as seen through the eyes of two Scottish sisters. Girl Meets Boy is about girls and boys, girls and girls, love and transformation, and the absurdity of consumerism, as well as a story of reversals and revelations that is as sharply witty as it is lyrical. Funny, fresh, poetic, and political, Girl Meets Boy is a myth of metamorphosis for a world made in Madison Avenue’s image, and the funniest addition to the Myths series from Canongate since Margaret Atwood’s The Penelopiad. About the Author: Ali Smith was born in Inverness in 1962 and lives in Cambridge. She is the author of Free Love, Like, Other Stories and Other Stories, Hotel World, The Whole Story and Other Stories and The Accidental. Her books have been won several awards and has four times been short-listed for the Man Booker Prize.

OG POEM   The fame of this, perhaps, thro' Crete had flown: But Crete had newer wonders of her own, In Iphis chang'd; for, near the Gnossian bounds (As loud report the miracle resounds), At Phaestus dwelt a man of honest blood, But meanly born, and not so rich as good; Esteem'd, and lov'd by all the neighbourhood; Who to his wife, before the time assign'd For child-birth came, thus bluntly spoke his mind. If Heav'n, said Lygdus, will vouchsafe to hear, I have but two petitions to prefer; Short pains for thee, for me a son and heir. Girls cost as many throes in bringing forth; Beside, when born, the titts are little worth; Weak puling things, unable to sustain Their share of labour, and their bread to gain. If, therefore, thou a creature shalt produce, Of so great charges, and so little use (Bear witness, Heav'n, with what reluctancy), Her hapless innocence I doom to die. He said, and common tears the common grief display, Of him who bad, and her who must obey. Yet Telethusa still persists, to find Fit arguments to move a father's mind; T' extend his wishes to a larger scope, And in one vessel not confine his hope. Lygdus continues hard: her time drew near, And she her heavy load could scarcely bear; When slumbring, in the latter shades of night, Before th' approaches of returning light, She saw, or thought she saw, before her bed, A glorious train, and Isis at their head: Her moony horns were on her forehead plac'd, And yellow shelves her shining temples grac'd: A mitre, for a crown, she wore on high; The dog, and dappl'd bull were waiting by; Osyris, sought along the banks of Nile; The silent God: the sacred crocodile; And, last, a long procession moving on, With timbrels, that assist the lab'ring moon. Her slumbers seem'd dispell'd, and, broad awake, She heard a voice, that thus distinctly spake. My votary, thy babe from death defend, Nor fear to save whate'er the Gods will send. Delude with art thy husband's dire decree: When danger calls, repose thy trust on me: And know thou hast not serv'd a thankless deity. This promise made, with night the Goddess fled; With joy the woman wakes, and leaves her bed; Devoutly lifts her spotless hands on high, And prays the Pow'rs their gift to ratifie. Now grinding pains proceed to bearing throes, 'Till its own weight the burden did disclose. 'Twas of the beauteous kind, and brought to light With secrecy, to shun the father's sight. Th' indulgent mother did her care employ, And past it on her husband for a boy. The nurse was conscious of the fact alone; The father paid his vows as for a son; And call'd him Iphis, by a common name, Which either sex with equal right may claim. Iphis his grandsire was; the wife was pleas'd, Of half the fraud by Fortune's favour eas'd: The doubtful name was us'd without deceit, And truth was cover'd with a pious cheat. The habit show'd a boy, the beauteous face With manly fierceness mingled female grace. Now thirteen years of age were swiftly run, When the fond father thought the time drew on Of settling in the world his only son. Ianthe was his choice; so wondrous fair, Her form alone with Iphis cou'd compare; A neighbour's daughter of his own degree, And not more bless'd with Fortune's goods than he. They soon espous'd; for they with ease were join'd, Who were before contracted in the mind. Their age the same, their inclinations too; And bred together, in one school they grew. Thus, fatally dispos'd to mutual fires, They felt, before they knew, the same desires. Equal their flame, unequal was their care; One lov'd with hope, one languish'd in despair. The maid accus'd the lingring day alone: For whom she thought a man, she thought her own. But Iphis bends beneath a greater grief; As fiercely burns, but hopes for no relief. Ev'n her despair adds fuel to her fire; A maid with madness does a maid desire. And, scarce refraining tears, Alas, said she, What issue of my love remains for me! How wild a passion works within my breast, With what prodigious flames am I possest! Could I the care of Providence deserve, Heav'n must destroy me, if it would preserve. And that's my fate, or sure it would have sent Some usual evil for my punishment: Not this unkindly curse; to rage, and burn, Where Nature shews no prospect of return. Nor cows for cows consume with fruitless fire; Nor mares, when hot, their fellow-mares desire: The father of the fold supplies his ewes; The stag through secret woods his hind pursues; And birds for mates the males of their own species chuse. Her females Nature guards from female flame, And joins two sexes to preserve the game: Wou'd I were nothing, or not what I am! Crete, fam'd for monsters, wanted of her store, 'Till my new love produc'd one monster more. The daughter of the sun a bull desir'd, And yet ev'n then a male a female fir'd: Her passion was extravagantly new, But mine is much the madder of the two. To things impossible she was not bent, But found the means to compass her intent. To cheat his eyes she took a different shape; Yet still she gain'd a lover, and a leap. Shou'd all the wit of all the world conspire, Shou'd Daedalus assist my wild desire, What art can make me able to enjoy, Or what can change Ianthe to a boy? Extinguish then thy passion, hopeless maid, And recollect thy reason for thy aid. Know what thou art, and love as maidens ought, And drive these golden wishes from thy thought. Thou canst not hope thy fond desires to gain; Where hope is wanting, wishes are in vain. And yet no guards against our joys conspire; No jealous husband hinders our desire; My parents are propitious to my wish, And she herself consenting to the bliss. All things concur to prosper our design; All things to prosper any love but mine. And yet I never can enjoy the fair; 'Tis past the pow'r of Heav'n to grant my pray'r. Heav'n has been kind, as far as Heav'n can be; Our parents with our own desires agree; But Nature, stronger than the Gods above, Refuses her assistance to my love; She sets the bar that causes all my pain; One gift refus'd, makes all their bounty vain. And now the happy day is just at hand, To bind our hearts in Hymen's holy band: Our hearts, but not our bodies: thus accurs'd, In midst of water I complain of thirst. Why com'st thou, Juno, to these barren rites, To bless a bed defrauded of delights? But why shou'd Hymen lift his torch on high, To see two brides in cold embraces lye? Thus love-sick Iphis her vain passion mourns; With equal ardour fair Ianthe burns, Invoking Hymen's name, and Juno's pow'r, To speed the work, and haste the happy hour. She hopes, while Telethusa fears the day, And strives to interpose some new delay: Now feigns a sickness, now is in a fright For this bad omen, or that boding sight. But having done whate'er she could devise, And empty'd all her magazine of lies, The time approach'd; the next ensuing day The fatal secret must to light betray. Then Telethusa had recourse to pray'r, She, and her daughter with dishevel'd hair; Trembling with fear, great Isis they ador'd, Embrac'd her altar, and her aid implor'd. Fair queen, who dost on fruitful Egypt smile, Who sway'st the sceptre of the Pharian isle, And sev'n-fold falls of disemboguing Nile, Relieve, in this our last distress, she said, A suppliant mother, and a mournful maid. Thou, Goddess, thou wert present to my sight; Reveal'd I saw thee by thy own fair light: I saw thee in my dream, as now I see, With all thy marks of awful majesty: The glorious train that compass'd thee around; And heard the hollow timbrels holy sound. Thy words I noted, which I still retain; Let not thy sacred oracles be vain. That Iphis lives, that I myself am free From shame, and punishment, I owe to thee. On thy protection all our hopes depend. Thy counsel sav'd us, let thy pow'r defend. Her tears pursu'd her words; and while she spoke, The Goddess nodded, and her altar shook: The temple doors, as with a blast of wind, Were heard to clap; the lunar horns that bind The brows of Isis cast a blaze around; The trembling timbrel made a murm'ring sound. Some hopes these happy omens did impart; Forth went the mother with a beating heart: Not much in fear, nor fully satisfy'd; But Iphis follow'd with a larger stride: The whiteness of her skin forsook her face; Her looks embolden'd with an awful grace; Her features, and her strength together grew, And her long hair to curling locks withdrew. Her sparkling eyes with manly vigour shone, Big was her voice, audacious was her tone. The latent parts, at length reveal'd, began To shoot, and spread, and burnish into man. The maid becomes a youth; no more delay Your vows, but look, and confidently pay. Their gifts the parents to the temple bear: The votive tables this inscription wear; Iphis the man, has to the Goddess paid The vows, that Iphis offer'd when a maid. Now when the star of day had shewn his face, Venus and Juno with their presence grace The nuptial rites, and Hymen from above Descending to compleat their happy love; The Gods of marriage lend their mutual aid; And the warm youth enjoys the lovely maid.

[Sprite]

I'm looking forward to reading this one.

[lostcheerio]

Bought it and started it!

Just the page of epigraphs had me hooked.

[bothers]

Something that I really like about this one is how tolerant Robin is towards Ovid. Even though he doesn't get it quite right by our modern standards, Robin still stans for him and his story. He's got this particular worldview, and Robin fully disagrees with him on it, but still sees the value in what is ultimately a love story with a happy ending. I love that, and I also love the opening line of the novel.

Here's a photo of the Clach na Cùdainn, the oldest stone in Inverness (last one in the post). Anthea mentions it in the first chapter, and it's said locally to be Inverness' answer to the Palladium of Troy - so long as that stone is preserved, the city will thrive.

[lostcheerio]

Yes, I really liked the part where Robin told the story from Ovid, where first there was the story like an uninterrupted tale, and then Anthea retold exactly how it happened with her interjections and jokes. I think if you described this technique to me I'd say I'd be annoyed by it but I loved it in the execution. Robin and Anthea are just adorable.

[Fillyjonk]

I am almost done. Maybe 25% to go.

I love Robin and Anthea, LOVE their word-play and the giddiness, their audible click. I like how seriously this book takes love---as a thing that matters. Yes, yes, earth, but also love.

Imogen's blanketed, parenthesis-bound voice pleases me immensely. This is the thing where I would have said, if you described the punctuation, I WILL HATE THAT THAT SOUNDS PRECIOUS AND TRY HARD, but I find it to be so effective. It weirdly makes me love her. She is so CONSTRAINED, even on the page, where Anthea is just bursting open into whole fields of blooms, as Robin says.

SPOILER THING:

 

I found it SO powerful when Imogen said no to Keith for the very simple reason that what he wanted was wrong. Like, "But what you are asking me to do is very wrong and bad, and I won't, even though it would materially benefit me and I am desperate to please people and terrified of what people think of me."

This simple thing is so hard! And we have seen her fail to stand up for herself SO MUCH, just eating it, hiding in parking lots, tolerating all the rudeness and personal bad behaviors, all her stress over what people will think---but then he says DO THIS MORALLY BAD THING and she just---balks.

I just loved her then, so hard. It's easy to crap on weaker people, like, OH SHE MANAGED THE BARE MINIMUM, but having been in her head--that was heroism. I love her.

[Fillyjonk]

OKAY DONE

 

I love the way people in love talk to each other in this book. Very matter-of-fact, like OF COURSE, YOU.

I love that Imogen's voice experiences a lessening of parenthesis, but never loses them. This feels right and is progress I can believe in.

I had genuine horror when Paul was like BUT YOUR SISTER. Just a stomach dropping horror of IS ANTHEA DEAD? She was in love and happy by 1/3rd of the way in, so I was braced for death. HA!

I thought the book does a great job of writing about sustained love as beautiful and interesting -- moving fast past romance. Like #no1kerr about that first kiss, this ain't no ROM COM, we do not eff around and be stupid when it comes to grabbing our best chance at joy, we choose each other, and we mean it. Thee main love story moves from We go from OH HELLO to NOW WE ARE AN US, and what matters is that they have decided to stand back to back, swords out against the world.

I loved the Imogen/Anthea phone conversation from jail. Anthea's shock and joy felt real, and Imogen's progress feelt both hopeful and real.

I love the way the author used WATER all through the book---as a commodity, as mercy, as a vehicle for both loss and restoration, as life, as a right and a threat and a lever for gross manipulation---so good. I want to reread this small book JUST to track the way she uses water.

Loved the send up of corporate culture esp the way the word Pure was used and repurposed.

I loved the wedding with the myths all alive, the nut-brown grandparents, and the way the guests hark back to other creatures/gods mentioned or used as comparatives in the original poem.

IN SHORT 100 thumbs up. This book was a joy to me, and I needed it.

[PlaidPeregrine]

I'm only 17% in! But wow, what a read. It's such a comfortable book to read - how it flows. It's like the natural processing of thoughts in my brain, which is odd to say, and maybe it's my ADD saying it, but ...it's wonderful. And Midge is so wonderful so far, along with the grandfather when he was a girl. It just makes my heart blossom.

I should put aside some posting tonight and finish the chapter.

[Fillyjonk]

OKAY this is the time of the month where we assume everyone has read and so SPOILERS ARE WELCOME. Beware!

What's the magic word? I am with Midge, I would refuse it, Imogen is a great name. I needed this bouyancy and joy this month. AND THE SHORTNESS. I am trying to get my reader brain back working---it was damaged a great deal in the pandemic.

For me this was such a pleasure. It occurs to me that I don't know what the sisters look like---purposeful? Why?

The more I think about it, the more I like the way Smith uses repetition. Stories get retold, little bit different, myth creation in action, everything comes back--- the way the grandparents come back at the wedding, so godlike.

The optimism about people, even CRAPPY people, is intoxicating.

[bothers]

Yeah, I feel like... it's a story about storytelling, you know? There's so many storytellers in it (good and bad - the Pure Dominant Narrative Department is just a terrifying name and concept), and that little bit in the middle where Anthea tells the Iphis story in her own words, and then you get to read this "oral" version of it with all the digressions and hecklings and informal registers - it's a storyteller's story, isn't it? I love the little anecdote that Anthea has about how she goes into bookshops and fans all the pages of the books so that each page gets to see the light, as if doing that releases the stories into the world.

Some of the criticisms I've seen of Ali Smith have been that she's very much a writer's writer, she does things structurally that are clever - artful, to use her own word. Some people find her a bit TOO clever? "Exclusionary", one person said. I don't think she is, personally. I agree that her writing is really dense, there's a heck of a lot going on in every sentence, in every situation, and it keeps on rewarding readers who are willing to do the work of unpacking it... but even if you don't want to do that work, it's still a great -and yes, joyful- story!

Now that you mention it Filly, I don't think Smith described the physical appearance of any of her characters in Hotel World either (the other Smith novel I've read), and I've got more of a sense of what Robin's handwriting looks like than Robin. The easy answer I guess is that maybe Smith just doesn't care about writing pen portraits, but it seems like there's got to be something else going on there. Maybe she wants you to be able to see yourself in her characters? It's a deft bit of work that she's done to make someone like Imogen sympathetic, like she wants you to take all these people into your heart. Maybe she feels like too much physical description would get in the way of that?

[Fillyjonk]

It is for sure about storytelling, I totally agree, and the mutable-ness and power of myth. so interesting bothers, about the same lack in HOTEL WORLD. I have never before read Ali Smith, so I thought the lack of physical detail was book specific and wondered if it made them more universal, more mythic, more archtypal to not have this haircut and that foot shape. But maybe this is still true, and she wants this effect active in more books than just this one?

It DID feel dense with allusion and reference, and I could sense a bunch of submerged ones I wasn't getting just STACKED. I didnt; pause or think or google LA LA LA. SO it CAN be read for the sheer joy of it: I TESTIFY!

She does remind me of Winterson, and THE PASSION is in my top ten books. Some of her later stuff got too ---physically unmoored and thick with reference for me, but I love MANY of her books. She is also accused of being a writer's writer. I have FRAN KISS STEIN in my stack now, but havent; cracked it...

[Fillyjonk]

Hi BOOK CLUBBERS,

March is when we read a COLLECTION -- anyone got a collection of short stories or an anthology, or even GASP! poetry they are hot to read as this incredibly short month winds to a close?

[lostcheerio]

Should we read a Roald Dahl collection… he has many short stories for adults in several collections — and talk about the rewrites of his work for more inclusive language? Or… too controversial? I’ve never read his stories for adults.

[bothers]

His short stories for adults are horrible. It's been something like 25-30 years since I last read any of them, but my overriding memory is that they were mostly misogynistic, ableist, orientalist, racist, etc, in various miserable combinations. Would need a lot more than the few word substitutions his kids books are getting to make that stuff palatable. I know a lot of people get a lot out of Dahl's adult short stories, and can overlook all the everything, especially with how beloved he is as a children's writer, but think it'd be a shame to go from something as life-affirming as Girl Meets Boy to Dahl's grotty Uncle Oswald.


Last pick was mine, so don't want to go too hard on suggestions, heh, but I do like the idea of doing a poetry! Or maybe a collection of stories that have been translated into English? I dunno what's hot and cool right now though. Or even how the youth are describing things that are both hot and cool these days.

[lostcheerio]

So maybe the cleaning-up-Dahl discussion can be ancillary to the read. I just want to talk about it with somebody besides my students.

I like the idea of poetry too.

What about Heating and Cooling by Beth Ann Fennelly? Which Filly recommended to me a while back and I loved. That's a very gift-able book right there.
Has everyone already read Citizen, an American Lyric by Claudia Rankine? I have not but everyone here is assigning it in the comp classes. I own it but haven't read.