A volume of essayistic diary entries from the late writer.
Even after turning 90, Morris (1926-2020) maintained her equilibrium and good spirits by walking every day, at least 1,000 steps, a morning constitutional she embarked upon regardless of the weather. While on those walks, she composed these daily entries in her head. She revisits old memories, musing on the possible discrepancies between what she remembers and what actually happened; discusses the trials and tribulations of old age, including the challenges of dealing with the dementia of her loving life partner and fears about her own mental acuity; and offers astute opinions on contemporary life, art, and politics. Most of the entries find Morris at home in Wales, as most of her traveling is now confined to memory—though the outside world connects with her as she participates in interviews about her work and engages in the haggling about publication and payment that plagues so many writers. The author rails against Brexit (“is democracy past its sell-by date?”) and shares some stray opinions about Donald Trump. “I have always rather liked his political style,” she writes, “as against his personal ideals, which are almost grotesquely crude.” Morris expresses her disdain for the conceptual “Environmental Art” of Bulgarian American artist Christo, a style that “cuts no aesthetic ice with me,” but she offers her appreciation for the acting in the American sitcom Two and a Half Men: “comedy performance of near perfection….I admire [the actors’] professional techniques as I enjoy really polished Shakespearean acting.” Beginning in the spring of 2018, the author confesses that she is “getting rather tired of me” and maintains that “there are too many old people in the world.” Ultimately, this is a volume about letting go—about the need to “let it be” when the world becomes too much—and a plea for kindness toward all.
Despite the inevitable bits of chaff, this is a pleasant reading experience perfect for Morris fans.