One of the ways writers get their books out these days is to guest blog everywhere. It’s actually fairly productive, but it leaves the local blog sadly neglected. As I said before, I will be posting at Lipstick Chronicles twice a month starting in February, and you can catch me there talking about food and women’s fiction and…well, you know, the whole catastrophe.
In the meantime, this is a blog I posted there that I think many of you might enjoy
“A little while back, when I first blogged here at Lipstick Chronicles, a couple of people mentioned writer MFK Fisher. I had never read her, but always hungry for food writers, I googled her and started reading. Two hours later, I ordered four of her books from Amazon, including the hefty anniversary edition of The Art of Eating.
When the books arrived, I curled up in my chair with two kittens and a class of wine and cracked open Art, and I’ve been dipping into every day or two ever since, doling out the pages like some rare, complex cheese. Sometimes, I cannot stop reading as fast as I’d like, carried along by the drama of her narrative as surely as if I’m lost in a novel. She led an unusual and adventurous life, and was a highly celebrated woman writer during at time when that was not at all common or easy. I feel as I did when I first read Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast—how is it possible I missed this work until now?
All things in their proper time. Thanks to some of you here, I have found a new favorite in Fisher.
For those who are not familiar with her work, she was a food writer who predates Julia Child by some decades. She wrote in the thirties and forties and fifties, writing with good humor and intelligence and wit.
In The Gastronomical Me, she writes in her foreword:
“People ask me: Why do you write about food, and eating, and drinking? Why don’t you write about the struggle for power and security, and about love, the way others do?