I was, I have to admit, predisposed to like Margaret Rose Stringer’s memoir, And then like my dreams, before I opened the cover. Fortunately, I wasn’t disappointed, but not, as it turned out, for the reason I expected. Here’s why. Margaret Rose Stringer once worked as a continuity girl in the Australian film industry and she was married to stillsman (film stills photographer), Chic (Charles) Stringer. I spent many years of my career working with film stills, and I loved it. I was therefore looking forward to hearing an insider’s story. However, the book didn’t really spend a lot of time on industry talk, but Stringer is such an engaging writer that I didn’t care because, by the time I realised it, I was fully invested in her story about the love of her life.
“The love of her life”. This could suggest something rather schmaltzy but while Stringer is totally one-eyed about CS, as she calls her late husband, this is not a schmaltzy book, not really, not despite frequent adulatory proclamations of love. Part love-story, part grief-memoir, the book works because of Stringer herself – her honesty and her writing style. I don’t make a practice of reading about grief. However, over the years I have read Isabel Allende’s Paula (1994), Joan Didion’s The year of magical thinking (2005), and Marion Halligan’s autobiographical novel, The fog garden (2001), and haven’t regretted any of them. Of course, Didion, Allende and Halligan were all established writers when they wrote about their grief, whereas Stringer was not.
But, she could have been, because this book has a fresh, lively style despite its subject matter. In fact, I did say it was only part grief-memoir: while we are told in the first chapter – one-page long and simply titled “All of it” – that she met Chic Stringer when she was 31 years old and that he died 31 years later, much of the book is about these 31 years, of which only the last couple encompassed his dying. Theirs was, it seems, the perfect love story. Stringer briefly describes her childhood, particularly her difficult relationship with her mother, then her undirected, rather wild and unsettled early adulthood in which she was dogged by anxiety, panic attacks and clinical depression. She discovered late in her much-loved father’s life that he too suffered but apparently, while he recognised that Stringer, the fourth of five daughters, was similarly afflicted, he did not have the wisdom or knowledge to effectively help her. Chic, though, did – through love, patience and tolerance. Stringer visualises their relationship as a “truth tree” with the trunk comprising the fundamental fact that:
Chic really, really wanted and needed to look after me; and I really, really wanted and needed him to do it.
My feminist self was a little taken aback by this, but it became clear that Stringer is not, as this might suggest, submissive so much as in need of love and nurturing, which Chic provides. In fact she says:
The point is that I didn’t simply go along with everything Chic wanted, because I loved him. Nono! – I retained my behavioural traits, because they were mine and they comprised me, even if they were less than totally attractive and desirable as traits go. After all, it was me he loved – not some paragon ….
She could, she said, be stroppy and unreasonable, and he could be bossy, but they made it work. I did feel she was a little too self-deprecating, too willing to put herself down at times, but she’s so thoroughly genuine that these niggles subsided.
Most of the book is about their life together: their work, particularly in the film industry and then the video production business they established when long-sightedness forced Chic out of his career; their various homes, including the one Chic built on Dangar Island in the Hawkesbury River; and their European travels, with some lovely stories about their passion for Placido Domingo. She refers us to their site European Travels with a Spouse for further information on their trips because, as she was reminded by her advisers, she was not writing a travel diary! Chic’s dying and her subsequent grief occupies only a small proportion of the whole.
What makes this memoir especially engaging is the style. Firstly, there’s her friendly, open voice. And then there are the quirky features, one of which is the use of script form to convey key scenes. Most of the book is written in first person, as you would expect, but these script scenes are written in third person. They relieve the intensity of the book and are, in fact, a little whimsical even when the point she wants to convey is serious. It’s the reverse what of Francesca Rendle-Short did in her fictional memoir Bite your tongue which she wrote primarily in the third person, using another name for herself, but occasionally inserted some first person commentary. For her, writing in third person enabled a distancing from the emotional intensity of a story she found “hard to tell”, whereas Stringer often uses these third person scenes to make an emotional point. Or, sometimes, just to tell a funny story. Stringer also uses footnotes entertainingly; she openly discusses the advice she received about memoir writing; and she tells her story through mostly short chapters with inspired titles like “Crust (Daily)”, “Joy”, and the ironic “Silver Tongue” in which she discusses Chic’s dislike of her “coarse utterance”.
Stringer is, of course, particularly moving when describing her grief, from her initial denial, through the last months of caring for a terminally ill partner, to feelings of “utter confusion” and madness afterwards. Joan Didion also wrote in her memoir of the mad – aka magical – thinking that attends grief. Stringer, in her inimitable style, is more direct and writes of her “mad-soup” brain.
Late in the book, Stringer says that part of her reason for writing was “to travel all the roads and pathways and sidealleys leading to and from grief”. She has achieved that, and more, because what she has written is a sad yet humorous, and ultimately wise book about the most meaningful thing in our lives – love.
Margaret Rose Stringer
And then like my dreams: A memoir
Fremantle: Fremantle Press, 2013
(Review copy supplied by Fremantle Press)
25 thoughts on “Margaret Rose Stringer, And then like my dreams (Review)”
WG Beautiful review. I’ve just been lost in one of the STRINGERS’ travel jaunts around the centre of France in the spring! Thanks for the links!
Oh thanks Jim … it’s a lovely travel site isn’t it?
Sounds touching and beautifully conveyed. I can’t imagine the pain of losing a lifelong mate!
It is Catherine … The deep, true love, a real working love, shines through.
Sounds like a lovely book about a wonderful relationship. And I am glad you enjoyed it so much even though it wasn’t what you expected.
Thanks Stefanie … And isn’t that great, to not have one’s expectations filled but be happy anyhow! 😉
I, too, was initially taken aback by that quote you showed us, but I feel I understand how it fits in. And I think I also understand that need, too. How, when you’re so used to holding yourself together (or trying to) on your own, it can be an act of bravery to let someone else step in and take care of you, too.
Also, I just like hearing of people meeting the love of their life in their 30s.
People can meet the love of their life anytime Hannah! But yes, I think you’re right, it can be an act of bravery. That’s nicely said. (Also an act of stupidity if you put your trust in the wrong person, in a manipulative or controlling one)
I can’t read memoirs of grief, they strike me too painfully, but it does sound very good.
I know what you mean with that first quote, at first blush it took me aback too. Then I thought, who am I to judge the truth of someone else’s relationship? If it works for them that’s what matters, not the politics.
That’s exactly it Max … If it works, if both partners are happy, then the rest is just words.
I guess we can guess her approximate age from her name. Put onto my Get to read list
LOL Carol, yes, though I think it’s pretty approximate, as in over a decade. That’s great that you would like to read it. If you do and you remember, come back and tell us what you think.
I loved reading your review, it really wrap up the story with your impelling insight.
Having just read it, I can relate to all you have said; expressing yourself so well!
Congratulations both to you and Margaret Rose!
Why thank you bkpyett. It’s a good read isn’t it? She has such an engaging voice.
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What a compelling and thorough review and I couldn’t agree more. I loved the book from a very personal place, not just the grief story but also the upbringing, relationship with the mother and father, siblings, the wild pre-Chic years it was all resonating loud and clear within me and even the tendency to eat a lot and gain weight was common ground.
I too loved the script writing first person style, each time one appeared I knew I was in for a real cutaway to their life being lived out on a stage which M-R had set for me.
In so many, many ways I love this book. Sometimes the most feisty, the most independent, the least likely to appear to need looking after and loving are the very ones who need it the most and boy do I relate to that because now I know, seeing it through someone else’s eyes that it’s a lack of that which makes us the way we are in the first place.
Thanks for coming over and commenting – Michelle, is it? As you know, I loved your personal heartfelt response. A book to recommend …
I got goosebumps reading about MR’s life .. there is so much in common with me that I need to take a deep breath now. I will read her memoir and can’t wait to do it.
Oh good Paula … if this gave you goosebumps then the memoir certainly will, but it will be worth the read.
Thank you very much for posting it 🙂 I will be back to check out your site more thoroughly.
Thanks Paula … you are welcome any time.
Sue, dear Sue … I am weeping as I send this link to you, and you will know why in the very first sentence.
I am so … lucky to have have so many wonderful people write reviews for me.
And it all started with you.
That’s a lovely review. I’m glad you think it started with me – but, really, it started with you! You wrote a lovely book and it’s lovely seeing it still getting out there. May it continue to do so!
What an excellent review! I agree with you in so many ways, especially the way that she refers to her weight throughout the book – I often wanted to scream at her “It doesn’t really matter!” but it obviously did and does to her. And I too was surprised that as a young woman in the 1960s she felt that she needed to be taken care of. But she did. And he wanted to, so as others have said, that relationship worked for them. And she is tougher and stronger than she thought.
A great read, though I too am not one for reading memoirs. Maybe I should read more.
Thanks Jude, so glad you liked the book and my review of it. I go through phases reading memoirs, but I am generally interested in them. It all depends on the quality of the writing more than the importance of fame of the subject.