In the early eighties we sometimes had writers and sci-fi
fans stay with us in Germany. My mother always felt bit isolated as a writer and so cherished these opportunities to
discuss all kinds of issues related to the world of sci-fiction and writing in
general. She was also always an outgoing and sociable person who loved telling
jokes and simply having a good time with people she liked and found
interesting. For someone who was a writer, she always seemed quite extroverted,
at least to my more introverted self.
One of the people who stayed with us on at least a couple of
occasions was Marion Zimmer Bradley. Because of recent revelations I’ve been racking my brain a bit to remember the times she came to stay in greater
detail.
I do remember a certain amount of eye-rolling taking place
when my sister and I were told that people were coming to stay, and this was
especially the case with MZB. To my teenage-self MZB seemed a profoundly odd
person. Not creepy or sinister in any way- just- well- odd. (And not particularly nice or friendly).
When we first moved to Germany, after living with my dad’s
brother and his family for some time, we moved into a modestly sized flat in
our middle-sized German town to the south of Frankfurt. MZB came to our town at least twice, and I’m fairly
certain she did stay with us on at least one occasion but on the other occasion
she stayed in a small hotel down the street. Even when she did not stay at our
place she spent a great deal of time there with my mother in particular and
witnessed a fair amount of our everyday comings and goings.
The things we found odd about her (and this included to a
certain extent our mom, who was also flattered to be on quite friendly terms
with this successful writer) were:
Her odd, frumpy-looking appearance
and her complete lack of interest in her appearance or her clothes. I’m pretty
sure mum lent her some of her own clothes to sort of “spruce her up” for the book
fare appearance.
Her outspokenness to the point of
rudeness (typical to our minds of the cliche of the “loud American”) and her self-centeredness.
In connection with the lack of
interest in appearance was a certain frugality/stinginess, which my mother felt
somewhat odd, considering she must have been doing quite well, at the time,
thanks to “The Mists of Avalon”. (which
back then I felt guilty for not having read, now not so much).
Another thing I remember mom talking
about and being confounded by was her lack of understanding of, or interest in,
more intellectual writers such as Virginia Woolf or Henry James. I remember mum
talking about how she had tried but failed to get Marion interested in such
authors.
It did appear that they got along well though and had good
talks.
Not at any point did she come across as sinister or
manipulative, although as already noted she did come across as odd. I do
remember her sort watching our family life and sometimes commenting on it: it
made me think her life must be quite different. Once I heard her mention to my
mother the fact that I often hummed or sang songs to myself as I went about the
house, and how that must have meant I was happy (which I suppose it did, it was
just something we all did quite a bit) and I realized she was observing us/me
in the context of our everyday family life.
Not exactly sure why I’m posting this now—probably as some
sort of reckoning with the past.
