‘The Shape of Water’ and ‘The Shaping of Water’ and the Oscars

Ruth HartleyDisplacement, The Shaping of Water, The Tin Heart Gold Mine, video, War, Writing Process2 Comments

Films and books and Oscars

 

There’s my first novel The Shaping of Water – and there’s the film – The Shape of Water  – its quite strange when the title of your book is almost, but not quite, on the shortlist of the Oscars! If only! Add to that that there is a fascinating character called Oscar in my novel The Tin Heart Gold Mine.

Gothic horror and new ideas

The thing is that I love Guillermo del Toro‘s films – they are strange, disturbing, wonderful and very thought-provoking and of course, completely unlike my story and in fact unlike anything I write. I loved Pan’s Labyrinth and I enjoyed The Devil’s Backbone but then del Toro’s films are gothic horror though never simply about scaring you – they jolt you into thinking and seeing things anew.

Film director instead of writer

The photo shows a handsome cowboy in a snazzy white suit and stetson leaning on a garden bench on which sits a scruffy and dirty hillbilly girl with a blond plait and a dirty face. She is in love with the cowboy.

Howard Keel and Betty Hutton in Annie Get Your Gun

If I had been born into a different generation I would be making films. When I sat in the cinema in Salisbury, Rhodesia, watching Annie Get your Gun I knew I wanted to be the film designer – I didn’t know that I actually wanted to be a film director – I was 8 years old and didn’t have the right words – I just knew I wanted to be the artist in chief of the movie! Of course I wanted to write the screenplays too.

How to buy my books

Instead I am a writer. If you go to Troubador my publisher you will be able to buy The Shaping of Water at a reduced price by using the discount code which is, of course, OSCAR  – or the code they tell you to use. Click here to buy The Tin Heart Gold Mine  also reduced.

My MA video

https://www.facebook.com/ruth.hartley.399/videos/10153719202604205/

So here’s the video I made for my MA thesis. I enjoyed making it – its supposed to be about the things that we know and understand that are never obvious or out in the open – the things we read “between the lines”. Read More and Comment …

Rica Hodgson: “foot soldier for freedom”, friend and hero

Ruth HartleyAfrica, apartheid, Freedom Fighters, South Africa, Writing, Zambia7 Comments

Rica Hodgson — the freedom fighter who rescued me 52 years ago

Rica is laughing with her head tilted back slightly. She has on a blue dress.

Rica Hodgson at my wedding to Mike Bush 1969

This post is harder to write than I expected.

I was at my desk and about to write Rica a letter when I learnt that she had died. It was not unanticipated. She was 97 and had been in frail health for a while. I had only just completed another, perhaps final, re-edit of my 1966-1967 memoir When I was Bad which tells how I met Rica and how she rescued me.

Rica Hodgson is one of the leading South African freedom fighters celebrated by South African History Online (SAHO). On this amazing site, you can read her biography and those of many other significant figures in the anti-apartheid movement.

Rica is also someone to whom I owe an immense debt.

A long friendship from London through Lusaka to Johannesburg

Wedding photo at the registry office door. The men are in dark suits, Ruth Hartley in a red suit, Rica Hodgson in blue, Noppy and Jean and Ruth carry bouquets, Rachma has a basket of flowers and a brown pinafore.

The registry office wedding of Ruth Hartley and Mike Bush. L-R Jack Hodgson, Bill Lewis holding Rachma, Ruth, Mike, Rica Hodgson, Noppy Lewis, Jean Lawson

When I first knew Rica she worked in the Welfare Department at Defence and Aid in London channelling aid to apartheid prisoners and their families.

I wasn’t part of that remit but she helped me anyway. Without her I might have lost my child and ended up on the streets seriously depressed and suicidal. In April 1966, I was alone, poor and pregnant. Rica became my friend.

She was at my wedding in 1969, I visited her when I could, went to her 80th birthday party in London, stayed with her in Joburg, went with her to the ANC offices where I met her boss Walter Sisulu, met her in Lusaka, Zambia, and talked of her experiences at Solomon Mahlunga Freedom College in Tanzania.

A time of secrecy and danger

Nelsonn Mandela leans towards Rica holding her hand. Rica's hand cups Madiba's cheek affectionately.

Rica Hodgson and Nelson Mandela.

Everything to do with the anti-apartheid struggle and the African National Congress and with Rica’s work was dangerous until Nelson Mandela was elected President of South Africa.

The apartheid government assassinated Ruth First, Chris Hani and many others. They attempted to kill Albie Sachs too.

For 30 years it was essential to keep silent so as not to endanger the freedom movement.

Read More and Comment …

The Book of Memory by Petina Gappah

Ruth HartleyAfrica, Colonialism, Displacement, Family, Migration, Politics, Race, Racism, ZambiaLeave a Comment

New Year in another country

A young Zimbabwean woman tilts her head and smiles at the camera

Petina Gappah – photograph from the Guardian interview

On New Year’s Day we fled from France across the snow-covered Pyrenees pursued by stormy winds and heavy rain. There we wandered along empty twisting roads among ruined and isolated stone villages and ancient monasteries in the  brutal mountains of Spanish Aragon. In our hotel room the television showed no news and told no stories so we were free to lie down in silence and read the books we unpacked from our suitcases. John was reading Lost History, a book about the culture and science of Islam. I was reading Petina Gappah‘s The Book of Memory, published by Faber and Faber and long-listed for the Baileys women’s prize for fiction. I was soon so absorbed into the story that I couldn’t put the book down and we were almost too late to get supper. In Spain supper goes on so late that missing it is nearly impossible. It’s an indication of how much I was enjoying The Book of Memory Read More and Comment …

Dancing and carolling through the dark days of the winter solstice

Ruth HartleyMusic, Seasons, Songs4 Comments

Season’s Greetings

Best wishes and greetings to all who read my posts – have a happy, green and gorgeous winter.

Here are are some wonderful songs to listen to over the solstice

It will soon be the night of the Winter Solstice

Keep your fires burning and your candles lit throughout the longest night

Bring in enough firewood to keep your family warm on the cold days

Dance and sing to keep warm and to celebrate life

Decorate your home with evergreen leaves and branches for good fortune

Make a feast of wine and good food to share with your friends

Offer kindness and charity to those in need, it is a human duty

This is a time to spend with your beloved.

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of my poem PLANT LIFE

Poem Plant Life by Ruth Hartley in white text centred over a background picture of green succulents and a network of thorns over volcanic earth, taken at Lanzarote

Mythological me – images from a memoir of childhood

Ruth HartleyAfrica, Colonialism, Family, Imagination, Race7 Comments

For a child, facts are fantastical and fantasy, factual

Somewhere in my infancy, there is a thick green privet hedge, clipped and trimmed to right-angled perfection. It encloses a perfectly square empty space brimful of desolation. It contains no house, no people live there and it is nameless. Its eternal position is located somewhere inside the fortnight when my mythical mother vanished forever, but returned immediately with the fact of my baby sister. I can only recall the hedge. Perhaps I did live inside it once long ago.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Childish ghosts

Years before my mother’s disappearance, two time-travelling ghost children began to haunt my parents and stayed with them until they died. As a result, my mother had to be on duty each day to keep my sister and me from being harmed by them. As we could not be trusted to a nanny, we were left alone when my mother and her friends played tennis at the club across the road. Then Clare and I hid from each, and hunted the other, under the scruffy eucalyptus trees around the stick and straw pavilion where tea was served. Read More and Comment …