{"id":86371,"date":"2015-06-04T17:07:31","date_gmt":"2015-06-04T21:07:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=86371"},"modified":"2015-06-05T13:41:20","modified_gmt":"2015-06-05T17:41:20","slug":"life-and-loves","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/06\/04\/life-and-loves\/","title":{"rendered":"Life and Loves"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Hugh_Bolton_Jones_1900_On_the_Green_River<\/a>

Hugh Bolton Jones, On the Green River<\/i>, 1900.<\/p><\/div>\n

The other day, I mentioned my grandfather\u2019s fondness for a certain line of poetry: \u201cHie me away to the woodland stream,\u201d he would say whenever the brook in the nearby woods was running.<\/p>\n

We walked that way almost every day on my visits to California\u2014my grandfather was a great walker\u2014but some summers it was too dry, and the brook was just a dusty furrow. Sometimes we walked around the lake at the Naval Postgraduate School, or on the beach. Always, his strides were so long you could barely keep up. Sometimes, we couldn\u2019t, and he\u2019d move far ahead of us, hunched, hands thrust into the pockets of his flight suit. <\/p>\n

After I wrote about it, a kind reader sent me a link to the real poem. It seems the line is from William Cullen Bryant\u2019s \u201cGreen River<\/a>,\u201d and actually reads, \u201chie we away to the woodland scene.\u201d Which still doesn\u2019t sound at all right to me. But then, my grandfather was not a stickler for accuracy.\u00a0For instance, he also talked to me, often, of a mythical book \u201cabout a girl and her grandfather\u201d living somewhere remote\u2014he was only sure it wasn\u2019t Heidi<\/em>, and that he had read it at some point in the 1930s.<\/p>\n

Afternoons, he read. Usually in the shed he called the greenhouse\u2014it was also filled with broken cuckoo clocks, cookware, and brass animals\u2014where he had contrived a chaise out of a deep chair, a lounge pillow, some folded blankets, and a footrest. It was very uncomfortable, and built for his sole use. He\u2019d read there, stretched out, with a large silver milk-shake beaker close to hand, filled with iced tea. Usually classical music played from a small transistor radio that was said to have once belonged to Paul Anka.<\/p>\n

He was always reading a lot of books at once, somewhat indiscriminately\u2014biographies, fiction, poetry, history, anything that fell into his path or the free bin at the library. In the evenings, he multitasked: one could find him ensconced in bed with a book open, a procedural on TV, while music\u2014Bart\u00f3k, by preference\u2014played into one ear. He also had a notepad nearby in case he needed to put down his book and do an equation. Often he\u2019d hand the book to you to read.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t remember his ever saying he disliked something. But there were certainly books that were in the pantheon. These included (but were not limited to) The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini<\/em>, Balzac\u2019s Droll Stories<\/em>, and the pornographic and rather tedious L. Frank Harris memoir My Life and Loves. <\/em>I read this on his recommendation when I was far too young, and never met the book again until I saw it on the shelf of the man whom I would later marry.<\/p>\n

My grandfather was very insistent that I read Vera Brittain\u2019s Testament of Youth<\/em> and Testament of Experience<\/em>. He was also always trying to get me to \u201csing\u201d Carmina Burana<\/em>, and picking up rosaries for anyone he knew to be nominally Catholic, and buying Native American\u2013themed things for my cousin because she had \u201cIndian blood\u201d and dark eyes, and giving my grandmother biographies of composers, despite her complete lack of interest in them. In short, he got notions. But he talked about the Brittain books so incessantly that I finally read them in college, and still have the copies he gave me on my bookshelf.<\/p>\n

Now\u00a0Testament of Youth<\/em> has been adapted for the big screen, starring Game of Thrones\u2019<\/em>s Kit Harington. This feels utterly bizarre, somehow; while the Great War\u2013era saga is a classic\u2014and Brittain herself famed as a pacifist and feminist\u2014it still seems to belong in that dirty shed, with that sweating beaker of iced tea, atonal music crackling through that crummy radio that we couldn\u2019t throw away because of its alleged Paul Ankan provenance. They might as well make a Showtime miniseries about Frank Harris allegedly seducing half the women of the late nineteenth century, or a cartoon \u201cabout a girl and her grandfather\u201d reading, indiscriminately. It just doesn\u2019t make sense.<\/p>\n

Sadie Stein is contributing editor of <\/em>The Paris Review, and the <\/em>Daily\u2019s correspondent.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The other day, I mentioned my grandfather\u2019s fondness for a certain line of poetry: \u201cHie me away to the woodland stream,\u201d he would say whenever the brook in the nearby woods was running. We walked that way almost every day on my visits to California\u2014my grandfather was a great walker\u2014but some summers it was too […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":178,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13115],"tags":[775,18363,14708,3926,9296,13158,4693,18366,53,18364,2629,9056,18365],"class_list":["post-86371","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-our-daily-correspondent","tag-california","tag-grandfathers","tag-grandparents","tag-green-river","tag-hiking","tag-memories","tag-nostalgia-2","tag-paul-anka","tag-reading","tag-vera-brittain","tag-walking","tag-william-cullen-bryant","tag-woodland-scene"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nHie We Away to the Woodland Scene<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Sadie Stein remembers her grandfather.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, 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