Surrounded by bees

I'm working my way - very slowly - through Charles Spurgeon's massive book, The Treasury of David.  Certainly the Book of Psalms, to which the title refers, is a treasure, but what makes Spurgeon's book interesting beyond this are the notes that he added to each Psalm: not only his own notes, but those he culled from dozens of books by various authors who had preceded him, some of them dating back two or three centuries. 

Sometimes he quotes the old Fathers of the Church, such as Augustine, or uses extracts from writers who describe modern day equivalents of situations mentioned in the Psalms. The following is such a one, relating to the verse in Psalm 118 verse 12: "They (David's enemies) surround me like bees." It comes from George Schweinfurth's "The Heart of Africa," published in 1873...

Now, as the north east wind of course was adverse to any north east progress, it was necessary that the boat should be towed by the crew. As the rope was being drawn along through the grass on the banks it happened that it disturbed a swarm of bees. In a moment, like a great cloud, they burst upon the men who were dragging; everyone of them threw himself headlong into the water and hurried to regain the boat. The swarm followed at their heels, and in a few seconds filled every nook and cranny of the deck. What a scene of confusion ensued may readily be imagined. 

Without any foreboding of ill, I was arranging my plants in my cabin, when I heard all around me a scampering which I took at first to be merely the frolics of my people, as that was the order of the day. I called out to enquire the meaning of the noise, but only got excited gestures and reproachful looks in answer. The cry of "Bees! bees!" soon broke upon my ear, and I proceeded to light a pipe. My attempt was entirely in vain; in an instant bees in thousands are about me, and I am mercilessly stung all over my face and hands. To no purpose do I try to protect my face with a handkerchief, and the more violently I fling my hands about, so much the more violent becomes the impetuosity of the irritated insects. The maddening pain is now on my cheek, now in my eye, now in my hair. 

The dogs from under my bed burst out frantically, overturning everything in their way. Losing well nigh all control over myself, I fling myself into the river; I dive down, but all in vain, for the stings rain down still upon my head. Not heeding the warning of my people, I creep through the reedy grass to the swampy bank. The grass lacerates my hands, and I try to gain the mainland, hoping to find shelter in the woods. All at once four powerful arms seize me and drag me back with such force that I think I must be choked in the mud. I am compelled to go back on board, and flight is not to be thought of... I felt ready, in the evening, for an encounter with half a score of buffaloes or a brace of lions rather than have anything more to do with bees; and this was a sentiment in which all the ship's company heartily concurred. 

Secret Life of Bees

I read Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees last year while my wife and I were in England. I'd heard about it over the years, because Kidd's name was well known to me from when I managed a bookstore, but I'd never read it. (I'd enjoyed an earlier book, When the Heart Waits a lot, but found the following book, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter too feminist for my tastes at the time.)
Anyway, The Secret Life of Bees has hit the big screen now, and Dakota Fanning is the star. Fanning is one of those extraordinary child actors who seems to be able to take on any role and invest it with an intensity that's beyond the ordinary. She's been in movies (or TV) most of her life; in fact, they've been her life. How's she as down to earth as she seems is quite a miracle. She has the ability to be very ordinary, and yet continue to move us. She even managed to make the nasty movie, Hide and Seek, watchable.
I'm not sure that I'll go and see The Secret Life of Bees. Even though it wasn't one of my favourite books, it left memories behind that I don't particularly want overlaid by a movie version. This has happened a few times, with The Shipping News, The Horse Whisperer, and, worst of all, the TV version of Middlemarch, in which the main role was miscast - at least as far as my reading of the book was concerned. (The main role of the TV version of Bleak House was similarly miscast, but it's all a matter of perception - these actors weren't the way I'd imagined the characters, and they spoilt my imaginative version.)

Secret Life of Bees

Finished Sue Monk Kidd’s The Secret Life of Bees today, after having put it aside for a while when I struck a bit of a slack patch in the middle. It’s an interesting coming of age story - I suppose that’s what you call it, although a growing-up story might be more appropriate. Lily, the daughter of an abusive father, tells us early in the piece that she accidentally shot and killed her mother during a family argument. Her only friend appears to be a black woman called Rosaleen who works on the peach orchard Lily’s father owns. When Rosaleen is arrested and then hospitalised because she’s beaten up by angry whites, Lily ’rescues’ her from the hospital, and the two set out on a journey that takes them to a house owned by three black sisters - three wise, but rather strange sisters.
The story is set in the days when blacks were signing up to register for the vote, and when integration was happening but greatly rejected by the whites. But this is the background to a story in which bees play a large and vital part and in which learning about yourself, your anger, your failures and mistakes and the need to move forward all contribute to what happens.
The language is often rich and vital - sometimes almost too much so. Lily and Rosaleen, and Lily’s father are solid real characters. The three sisters never strike me as black women, somehow, as Rosaleen does. Maybe this is a fault in my reading of the story, but whereas Kidd presents Rosaleen as a physical black presence, the three sisters seem to live on a different plane, and thinking of them as black is something I found hard to do.
Kidd wrote the non-fiction book When the Heart Waits some years ago, and it was one of the better-selling books in the shop I ran. The Secret Life of Bees is different altogether, apart from being fiction. It has an odd spirituality in it, is very female-focused, and Kidd’s version of feminism again comes to the fore - though here it‘s entirely appropriate to the story. Nevertheless the male characters in the book are no ciphers; sometimes they’re more real than the women.

Here’s a short quotation from chapter fourteen of the book:
People, in general, would rather die than forgive. It’s that hard. If God said in plain language, ‘I’m giving you a choice, forgive or die,’ a lot of people would go ahead and order their coffin.

The Times of London

I’ve been sitting outside in the garden this afternoon reading some of The Times weekend newspaper. When I say ‘some’ I mean that I’ve barely scratched the surface of the umpteen pages I bought for a trifling sum at the supermarket. And it isn’t all classified ads or anything unsubstantial like that. It’s full of columns, news reports, little 50-word briefs, editorials, and so on. And that’s just the main paper. There are several insert papers, and a couple of magazines, one devoted to the media and tv and radio programmes, and the other much more glossy and – yes, I have to admit it – rather insubstantial. But that’s the trend with these weekend glossies, unfortunately. So between keeping the midges at bay, and watching the bees buzzing around the flowers beneath my feet – literally – and three hens puttering their way across the lawn without so much as a how-ye-do? – I tried to get into as much of the paper as possible. It was a Herculean task, and I suspect I’ll still be trying to achieve it by the time next weekend arrives.