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The Monday Book – The English Teacher by Lily King

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Guest review by Janelle Bailey, avid reader and always learning; sometimes substitute teaching, sometimes grandbabysitting, sometimes selling books

The English Teacher by Lily King

The English Teacher by Lily King

This is not a new book–it was first published in 2005)–but I came to it after first discovering Lily King and then wishing to read everything she’d written. I was not disappointed by that pursuit. King’s writing is solid, her stories holding layers of literary value, her characters thoughtfully deep and charismatic.

And it’s even been years since I read this book, but I’m still thinking about it, especially in light of some critical issues that have been developing for women these past couple of years. I often think of Vida…and also of my discussion post-reading with a great friend and fellow lover of good literature. Vida was very real to us, and she prompted a thoughtful discussion that could apply to many situations and which I think of often.

The English teacher in this novel, however, is that Vida. The book’s main character, Vida is a bit of a mess, but she wasn’t always, necessarily. It’s that during the action of this novel, she is first confronting some of her stuff, which she had been, well…stuffing…for years and years. Vida teaches English at Fayer Academy, a cozy little boarding school built in a mansion once owned by Vida’s grandfather, coincidentally. She has the third floor pretty much to herself. She’s much loved by students, named teacher of the year by then and rewarded more than once in her career, and she teaches the classics, such as Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles in ways with which any of us who’ve taught literature at all can relate, that beautiful repetition of seeing a work anew but the same, too, with a brand new group of students.

And outside of her classroom, Vida is also mom to Peter, now a freshman at Fayer…and dog mom to Walt…and she likes her wine. And she enjoys a positive, camaraderie- and history-filled, collegial relationship with many of her school colleagues, having worked there for years and living right on campus in a school-owned house.

And yet the life that Vida has been living outwardly allllll of this time has not required her to confront much of what she keeps inside…until she meets and then marries Tom.

This is a great book…thoughtful and thought-filled, well-written, characters believable and intense, and giving us access to our own stuff on the side.

I hope you have something new in the works and coming out soon, Ms. King.

Come back next Monday for another book review!

Hey Ho, Hey Ho. It’s Off to Work–Again

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In Jack’s Wednesday guest post he continues his Romanian adventure – –

After a break back home, I returned for a second month-long stint at Ploesti in Romania. This time was more relaxed as I was familiar with the set-up and the folks with whom I was working. Not only that, but my kind-hearted boss, Alan, paid for Wendy to join me for the last two weeks, so it was a bit like a paid vacation!

While I was teaching during the day, Wendy made contact with a fellow folklorist in the local university, explored the town, fed the many stray dogs, and found the Pinot Noir from Prahova Valley in a local supermarket, which we loved—both wine and market. Along the way she began to make contacts for a visit she wanted to make in the future, connecting Scottish young musicians, dancers, and storytellers with their Roma counterparts.

During this time we had become friendly enough with some people to be invited to their homes – mostly small apartments in high-rise, Soviet-era blocks with extended families crammed in. We also discovered that most folk worked at least two jobs and sometimes three just to survive. We were frequently embarrassed by our relative wealth!

Wendy especially befriended two schoolteachers who would later host her storytelling club kids, and they were crammed into a studio apartment, working their day jobs as teachers and night jobs in retail.

Wendy could also join me for the lavish occasional evening meals presided over by the ex- secret-police chief, who was frightening because he was so affable. But his interpreter had been working for me all day, and he always kept her going through the evenings as well – we felt sorry for her. And maybe she didn’t find him quite so affable…

Wendy visited the famous clock museum, and we were able to make a trip to the even more famous ‘Dracula’s Castle’…

…where we discovered that you could buy wine called Dracula’s blood – made in California!

We also bonded with the young girl working for the hotel, serving breakfasts before school began. We invited her to visit us and discovered that her ability to get a passport was hampered by economics. Thinking we could help, we discovered that kids from Roma communities had to pay astronomical sums just to apply, and were often denied visas.

We enjoyed Romania overall, while aware of its many injustices, and became aware that the population hankered to be seen as west Europeans. Bucharest is often referred to as ‘the Paris of the east.’

Wendy was able to re-connect and take her group of young folk with help from the EU and the British Council to spend time with the Roma kids in the north east of the country, comparing their different but related cultures. She went back to the hotel on a quick visit, but the young lassie was no longer employed, and she couldn’t find anyone to tell her in English if she had ever made it to Europe or simply quit.

Much later when we had opened our bookstore in Big Stone Gap, Virginia, we hosted ‘international nights,’ and one was presented by a friend who was a Romanian immigrant. He had been present when the Ceaușescu reign came to an end, and Wendy and I had our knowledge of the country expanded by his stories. We always wondered how the secret police chief managed to get to be the head of a large, newly private company – – –

Maybe our lasting memory is that Romania loves gypsy fiddlers and their music but treats their Roma folk very badly – the same people who play their fiddles. We remember the kids sneaking into the yard outside our hotel to get water from the outside faucet. And the sweetness of the music. Life is complicated.