Late to the Jamaica Inn

After returning from our U.K. trip in September, a friend of mine from my yoga class (retired English teacher) recommended I check out Daphne du Maurier based on my interest in Cornwall. She told me that both Rebecca and Jamaica Inn would be fascinating, especially now that I had a sense of the place.

Jamaica Inn

Indeed I just read Jamaica Inn and I stayed up late as I finished the book. The author had built up such an ache of suspense that it was not possible to simply put the book away and go to bed at a sensible hour. Her writing is evocative and gives a visceral and haunting sense of the reality of Cornwall at the time.

Though I did not visit the particular locations she mentions, the reference to Plymouth reminded me of our trip. The descriptions of piracy gave me an entirely different picture of the place though, and particular sense of a darker time in history. Fascinating. I shall enjoy reading more of her work.

Considering that Halloween is this week, the Jamaica Inn was a suitably haunting read for the season. I realize I am 80 years late to the party, but I am grateful to have discovered her. As we move into this chillier season when we spend less time outdoors in Minnesota, I am always on the hunt for good fiction. If you have suggestions of classic work in this genre, I truly appreciate it.

Cheers,

cristy@meximinnesotana.com

Saturday Share – Mark Nepo

This Saturday Share will be a little different, as I feel compelled to share a poem this time rather than a blog. This poem has haunted me since I heard it read by Liz Gilbert last weekend during our workshop on creative living, when it sent chills down my spine.

It is entitled Breaking Surface, and I linked to it and copied the text below with attribution and tremendous respect for Mark Nepo. The bold type is mine.

Breaking Surface

Let no one keep you from your journey,
no rabbi or priest, no mother
who wants you to dig for treasures
she misplaced, no father
who won’t let one life be enough,
no lover who measures their worth
by what you might give up,
no voice that tells you in the night
it can’t be done.

Let nothing dissuade you
from seeing what you see
or feeling the winds that make you
want to dance alone
or go where no one
has yet to go.

You are the only explorer.
Your heart, the unreadable compass.
Your soul, the shore of a promise
too great to be ignored.

***

MarkNepo
Graphic from Mark Nepo’s website