what fresh hell indeed!

so, i started a new book, a biography of dorothy parker by marion meade. i don’t know her short stories and poems as much as i know her quips and from those it was easy to make the assumption that the bio might be more interesting than veiled personal issues…and i was right! she’d built up quite a little façade for herself to hide a lot of self loathing and she surrounded herself with brilliantly broken enablers resembling an anon support group of sorts. Parkie had to fashion an avatar of survivor’s martyrdom in order to dig a little place for herself in the world. but it’s an eye-poppin’ read that’s beggin’ for a summer session on the beach! every one of the algonquin set, a study in personal psyches, neurosis and all including mrs. parker. i see archetypes that resemble people in my past and present. in some ways we are all such clichés, and i mean that lovingly!

i will say that uncovering the complexity of her personality makes me curious as to her writing. an example illustrates my point:

oh, i should like to ride the seas, a roaring buccaneer;

a cutlas banging at my knees, a dirk behind my ear.

and when my captives’ chains would clank i’d howl with glee and drink,

and then fling out the quivering plank and watch the beggars sink.

i’d like to straddle gory decks, and dig in laden sands,

and know the feel of throbbing necks between my knotted hands.

oh, i should like to strut and curse among my blackguard crew…..

but i am writing little verse, as little ladies do.

dorothy parker

hold on tight dorothy….tighter….