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[* review of entire The Copenhagen Trilogy] Review Consensus: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review:
Tove Ditlevsen was born in 1917, the second of two children in a working class Danish family.
Her The Copenhagen Trilogy chronicles three stages of her life: childhood, in this volume, covering the time until her confirmation, when she is fourteen and can leave school and get a job; youth, covering the years of first independence -- jobs; moving out of the family apartment; and then, in Dependency, early adulthood.
Fundamental to all three stages -- to her entire life -- is her compulsion to write (especially poetry): from early on she is passionate about language and expression, driven by a clear ambition: "Someday I'll write down all of the words that flow through me".
(Her ambition is also one of affirmation and recognition: it is not just about the writing, but also about being seen as a writer: "Someday other people will read them in a book and marvel that a girl could be a poet, after all".)
It bothers me a lot that I don't seem to own any real feelings anymore, but always have to pretend that I do by copying other people's reactions.As she explains towards the end of Childhood, getting at the root of perhaps her defining quality: I'm moved by poetry and lyrical prose, now as always -- but the things that are described leave me completely cold. I don't think very much of reality.Her parents are a bit gruff, with her father unable to establish a deeper rapport with his daughter, despite a shared interest in literature, and her mother favoring older brother Edvin. Even though she's never good enough for her mother, Tove's connection to her is stronger than to her father, and she readily admits: "I have fun with her and I admire her Copenhagen boldness and quick-wittedness". Ditlevsen presents herself as more of a follower and hanger-on, pulled along by others, whether her mother or Ruth -- another person bolder than her --, the friend she makes when she is nine, and whom she then spends most of her free time with. But she also has a will very much of her, especially when it comes to literature -- writing and reading. Ruth helps her explore the neighborhood -- the world -- around her -- "Let's go down and look at the whores", Ruth leads the way, despite being two years Tove's junior -- but Tove also has a world of her own that she determinedly explores on her own. She understands the importance and possibilities of education -- "I've started middle school and with that the world has begun to widen" (though obviously not in personal ways, as she barely connects with her fellow students). And she understand what worlds open to her when: "I've finally gotten permission to use the public library". Tove fondly remembers the librarian there -- for one, "she doesn't seem to suffer from an insurmountable aversion to children" -- though she balks at the first, well-meaning suggestions this Miss Mollerup makes: just how deeply-felt her literary sensibility already was is made clear from this passage, the experience and impression lingering on to the writer's present-day, four decades on: Page after page. I don't have it in me to read it. It fills me with sadness and unbearable boredom. I can't understand how language -- that delicate and sensitive instrument -- can be so terribly mistreated, or how such monstrous sentences can find their way into a book that gets into the library where a clever and attractive woman like Miss Mollerup actually recommends it to defenseless children to read. For now, however, I can't express these thoughts, so I have to be content with saying that the books are boringMuch of the power of Childhood comes from this precise, mature expression of the childish experience, so easily conveying the feeling (as well as acknowledging the childish inability to express it in any way clearly then -- an inability-to-make-oneself-understood so common to that time in life). So also in descriptions such as what seems to be the most-quoted sentence from this volume -- "Childhood is long and narrow like a coffin, and you can't get out of it on your own" -- or the sense, at that age, that: You can't get out of childhood, and it clings to you like a bad smell. You notice it in other children -- each childhood has its own smell. You don't recognize your own and sometimes you're afraid that it's worse than others'.Poetry albums are a thing at the time -- once in middle school all her classmates have one -- and, "after I've nagged my mother long enough", Tove gets one too. It becomes a prized possession, one that she clings to and hides, so that prying eyes can't read it, and an outlet for her poetry -- the one almost always driving force behind her: Even though no one else cares for my poems, I have to write them because it dulls the sorrow and longing in my heart.In one remarkable section -- showing again just how much Ditlevsen squeezes into her account, yet without it feeling cursory -- she writes about a difficult period which even saw her sawing at her wrists with a bread knife: All that happened was that I got some cuts; I still have faint marks from them. My only consolation in this uncertain, trembling world was writing poetry like this:If serious, she nevertheless does not present herself as preternaturally adult: this is a chronicle of childhood, with the inexperience and incomprehension of childhood -- notably also about sex, which she understands, from what it involves, but remains completely baffled by.Once I was young and all aglow,I was twelve years old then. The young Ditlevsen is well-aware that childhood is a specific and circumscribed stage in life, one that she wants to escape, even as she also wants to live the moment, and yet finds it failing her: Time passed and my childhood grew thin and flat, paperlike. It was tired and threadbare, and in low moments it didn't look like it would last until I was grown up. [...] My childhood was supposed to last until I as fourteen, but what was I going to do if it gave out beforehand ?The times and the circumstances make childhood difficult to hold onto. The real world comes fast: Tove's parents expect her to contribute to the family once she turns fourteen and finishes middle school and starts earning money. She would like to go to high school, but it's a pipe dream; only a single girl from her class is able to continue her education; Tove's teacher expresses regret -- "it's a shame though that you couldn't go to high school" -- but understands that that in these times -- it's the early 1930s -- and this milieu it's simply not possible. An editor she shows some poems to sees some promise in them, but tells her: "Come back in a couple of years". It's a small bit of hope to cling to -- Tove is desperate for someone's validation; she believes in her talents, but that alone isn't quite enough -- but the future, the next phase, the loss of childhood looms terrifyingly ahead; she fears: The future is a monstruous, powerful colossus that will soon fall on me and crush me.It's not only the uncertainty, of what the future might hold, but also the sense of loss, of this stage of life. Ditlevsen by no means romanticizes childhood, and the one she describes is hardly a very happy one -- but she doesn't so much concern herself with whether it is happy or not; she accepts things as they are, while also remaining cognizant that the next stages of her life will be fundamentally different, that with leaving childhood itself behind something is lost. Not necessarily something to mourn, but nevertheless a different way of being. Childhood is very rich for such a slim memoir, as Ditlevsen's economy of style is nevertheless very -- cautiously -- revealing. It's a very fine exploration of the poet as a child, and a lovely read. - M.A.Orthofer, 17 January 2021 - Return to top of the page - Childhood:
- Return to top of the page - Danish author Tove Ditlevsen lived 1917 to 1976. - Return to top of the page -
© 2021 the complete review
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