{"id":94345,"date":"2016-02-11T12:56:40","date_gmt":"2016-02-11T17:56:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=94345"},"modified":"2016-02-11T13:26:37","modified_gmt":"2016-02-11T18:26:37","slug":"silver-lining","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/02\/11\/silver-lining\/","title":{"rendered":"Silver Lining"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

From Early Silver of Connecticut and Its Makers<\/i>, 1913.<\/p><\/div>\n

It\u2019s hard not to have mixed feelings about Florence King after reading her famous memoir,\u00a0Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady<\/a> <\/em>(1985). She\u2019s \u2026 idiosyncratic, certainly. Brave, in certain respects. Independent-minded, yes, and not afraid of being disliked. But King, a notorious crank, was hard to pigeonhole: Where do you fit an openly gay writer who wrote a famously cantankerous and conservative\u00a0National Review\u00a0<\/em>column for decades? Or a feminist who hated the women\u2019s movement and an outspoken agnostic who regularly attended church?\u00a0<\/p>\n

Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady<\/em> is as singular as its author. King is at her best when she talks about the South in broad, acid terms. She offers a particularly adept explanation of the Southerner\u2019s relationship to silver\u2014one that I read with relish, as I come from a family that fetishizes silver.\u00a0<\/p>\n

We haven\u2019t inherited<\/em>\u00a0silver so much as accumulated<\/em>\u00a0it, usually on the cheap at garage sales. We bear it triumphantly home, where we shine it to a dazzling polish with Goddard\u2019s and strips of old sheets. Long after silver began to lose its cultural currency\u2014to say nothing of its value against actual currency\u2014it was still king in our family, and as an adult I\u2019ve continued the tradition. From a young age, I learned to hold an ice cube to a silver tumbler to test its authenticity. (Real silver is an excellent conductor, so it cools quickly.) Soon after, I learned the basics of polishing\u2014to let that pink cream dry to a dull finish, magically dissolving tarnish in ugly black streaks. It\u2019s something that gives instant results, one of the few cases where beauty can be uncovered in literal seconds.\u00a0This kind of care and attention\u2014our household lavished on nothing else. It was hard to say\u00a0why<\/em>\u2014whether we wanted a silver cache to sell or melt or hand down or just to eat off of. We didn\u2019t ask; we don\u2019t<\/em> ask.<\/p>\n

The other day, to my horror, I found a neighbor\u2019s daughter throwing out a great quantity of silver. Black with tarnish, yes, but even so. \u201cI think it\u2019s silver,\u201d she said, \u201cbut I don\u2019t want to polish it. Take it if you want.\u201d\u00a0I did want. I looked at her in blank incomprehension before scooping up the large box of plates and cups and scurrying home to administer the ice-cube test.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I had work to do. And though arguably I should have turned first to the dishes piled up in the sink or the dust layering the furniture, instead I reached for the silver polish and rubbed at those platters diligently for more than two hours.<\/p>\n

Florence King is the only writer I\u2019ve ever seen capture this silver mania as a kind of religion. Here she is on her own family\u2019s proclivities:\u00a0<\/p>\n

\n

A marriage can fall apart if a bride does not choose her silver carefully. A good pattern is known as \u201cThey\u2019ve been making that one forever.\u201d A bad pattern is known as \u201cThey don\u2019t make silver the way they used to.\u201d Bad patterns are the stark modern designs that are easy to keep clean; a good pattern is as busy as a Grecian frieze and manifests what silver company brochures call \u201cthe elegant and highly-prized glow of deep patina,\u201d i.e. those black lines made by ground-in dirt you can\u2019t get out no matter how many gauze-wrapped toothpicks you use.\u00a0<\/p>\n

My first household chore was wrapping gauze around toothpicks so Granny and Jensy could polish silver. They polished it while it was still shining from its last polishing; they polished it while a mouse named happily through a soggy bag of garbage; they polished it while a flapping window shade gave off a dust storm under their noses. Our silver was the only thing in our house that was ever really clean, which is the sure sign of a southern home. Granny\u2019s pattern was the goodest of the good, as furrowed as a damaged brain and so full of acorns and rosebuds that our palms ached after ever meal.\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

So I polished, hoping to discover that \u201cgoodest of the good.\u201d Most of this silver, it must be said, was very ugly. But I knew I couldn\u2019t have just left it there, unpolished and unloved. It would have been a mortal sin, something like killing God and my parents and grandparents all at once. What was wrong with these people, I thought, as I caked my fingers in filth and the dust swirled. I polished and polished, and then I put them back in their box and replaced them by the garbage chute, confident that now passersby would at least\u00a0know exactly what they were passing up.<\/p>\n

Sadie Stein is contributing editor of\u00a0<\/em>The Paris Review, and the\u00a0<\/em>Daily\u2019s correspondent.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It\u2019s hard not to have mixed feelings about Florence King after reading her famous memoir,\u00a0Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady (1985). She\u2019s \u2026 idiosyncratic, certainly. Brave, in certain respects. Independent-minded, yes, and not afraid of being disliked. But King, a notorious crank, was hard to pigeonhole: Where do you fit an openly gay writer who […]<\/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":[17,12511,21126,14367,14918,21125,12777,124,21128,21130,21127,21129,7258,14679],"class_list":["post-94345","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-our-daily-correspondent","tag-books","tag-city-life","tag-confessions-of-a-failed-southern-lady","tag-families","tag-family-life","tag-florence-king","tag-neighbors","tag-new-york","tag-polishing","tag-precious-metals","tag-silver","tag-silver-polish","tag-the-south","tag-traditions"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nMy Life Polishing Silver<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Sadie Stein on her family\u2019s longstanding and largely inexplicable obsession with silver.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/02\/11\/silver-lining\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Silver Lining by Sadie Stein\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"February 11, 2016 \u2013 It\u2019s hard not to have mixed feelings about Florence King after reading her famous memoir,\u00a0Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady (1985). 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