Hello dear Off-Topicers,
As a young teenager, I was an avid reader of Jackie magazine and pre-ordered it to arrive at our local newsagents, ready to collect on the walk home from school. I could usually pick up my copy the day before it appeared on the shelves, although occasionally the shopkeeper would emerge from the backroom with news that there was nothing under our surname yet (and I’d attempt to arrange my face in a way that suggested my entire evening hadn’t just been ruined). This system sounds quite archaic now, but I love that magazine-reading was once such a thing of ritual and anticipation.1
Reading Jackie was one of the highlights of my week, although I can only really recall two details: the illustrated picture stories2; and the problem page. And a few decades on, I’ve realised my Christmas3 reading this year was unintentionally a very wonderful recreation of these bits of Jackie magazine, albeit tailored to the adult version of myself.
I’m not sure why humans are so drawn to problem pages. Perhaps because they deliver concise stories that, like a novel, offer an opportunity to imagine ourselves into someone else’s world, or even recognise parts of ourself there. Or maybe because it’s comforting to see the agony aunt simplifying life and presenting a solution in just a few paragraphs. Or to witness the exchange of trust and kindness. But one of the things I’ve always enjoyed is the magician’s trick of a really brilliant columnist in fundamentally reframing something. The late Sally Brampton, who many years ago was an agony aunt for the Sunday Times, always used to amaze me with her advice - she’d venture off in some totally unexpected direction that seemed maverick, but also well-grounded and completely right4. I felt her absence when she was no longer writing. And I missed the family discussions that came out of us all having read her column from our different parts of the country at that time.
To me, a book containing human insights from a therapist’s chair somehow seems like the extended version of this. And over Christmas, Jackie’s problem page was reincarnated in the form of Tell Me the Truth About Love: 13 Tales From Couple Therapy by Susanna Abse. Being a silent bystander to intimate conversation could feel invasive, but somehow Susanna manages to avoid that. Instead, it’s just fascinating to learn how people’s stories unfold over multiple therapy sessions, and to see the myriad ways childhood impacts on later relationships. Also interesting, is to hear Susanna’s own self-doubt and worries as a therapist. And to discover how things are resolved - or dissolved - for the couples involved (although when therapy ends abruptly, like Susanna, we’re left wondering about them). Told with compassion, empathy, and a willingness to analyse herself as much as her clients, it’s an insightful read. (Although I should probably say, that if you were to read just one book in this vein, I’d make it Stephen Grosz’s exquisite The Examined Life. But you might read more than one, then definitely Susanna’s too).
Knowing I said the other thing I remember about Jackie magazine was its illustrated stories, I can imagine some of you may be sitting there wincing and thinking, ‘she’s going to tell me about a graphic novel, and I don’t like graphic novels and absolutely don’t want to read one.’ And I really do share those feelings. I want all the words. I want to hoover them up, undiluted, and without the exhausting distraction of having to ‘read pictures’. And yet…from the moment I heard about Lizzy Stewart’s Alison last year, I had a hankering for it. Partly because the cover was gorgeous. Partly because the subject matter seemed interesting and unexpected (it follows the life of a woman who marries young in the early 70s, but who dreams of becoming an artist). And partly because a glimpse of the illustrations made me feel I might actually enjoy ‘reading’ them. But still, I waited. And waited. Until just after Christmas when Alison was suddenly half price in the Waterstones hardback sale. Then, I reserved a copy and a few days later picked it up, and was treated to that same joyful trip home I’d once had with Jackie (but without the misery of being 12-years-old again)5.
And I can’t tell you quite how much I enjoyed it. How unlaboured it was to flit between picture and text. How nostalgic and fun it felt to be immersed in this medium. But also how it didn’t feel like a regression, just a why have I avoided this for so many years. To me, Alison is like a cross between a book and film, but with additional layers of texture and nuance, because there’s so much gorgeous emotion captured in Lizzy Stewart’s paintings. It’s a story of love, art, idealising older men, London, friendship, feminism, and finding oneself. At times I found Alison a little self-indulgent and overly earnest, at others exhaustingly deferential, but overall it’s a wonderful story.
Anyway, in closing remarks (I often write things assuming you’ll know when I’m being deliberately ridiculous, but so much can be lost in translation…so please know that I would never actually use a phrase like closing remarks seriously. And please also apply that logic to all other situations where you may be questioning this (which will leave me nicely covered for those times when I am just unwittingly being a dipstick ;). Either way, it seems like I now need to start a new sentence because I used up my first one with preamble. Let’s try again. So anyway, in closing remarks (!), I’ve realised a new season of Unforgotten has appeared this month. No, it doesn’t have the wonderful Nicola Walker in, but I’ve now watched the first episode and Sunny is doing an excellent job of mourning her as heartily as the viewers (because is there anyone who isn’t a Nicola superfan?!). The character who’s taken on her old role seems interesting and probably very likeable at some point in the future, too. As soon as I’ve closed my laptop, I’m going to dive into episode 2.
I also hadn’t noticed that the TV series of Taylor Jenkins Reid’s Daily Jones & the Six is out too. I loved the book and feel worried whether a screen can do it justice - I think some of this may hang on what the music is like. But I’ve got my fingers crossed for good things. Here’s the trailer.
Wishing you a splendid weekend,
Florence x
This made me think what a different place the world is for young people now. So much day-to-day social interaction has been replaced by streamlining and technology - it seems like a perfect pot for heightening social anxiety. Although labelling anxiety comes with its own issues - I was really interested by Esther Perel’s answer to Lucy Kellaway’s question about children self-diagnosing as a result of TikTok and social media. Esther is such a wise creature - I absolutely loved what she said.
I think officially classified as ‘comics’, but to me that suggests slapstick humour and there really wasn’t much of that. The action usually centred around boy troubles or some kind of upset between friends - depicted by at least one close up of a girl, in profile, with a large tear rolling down her cheek (but with excellently sculpted cheekbones and flicky fringe so that, even in distress, her look was aspirational).
I know, but the hours are short and the months and years even shorter…Christmas was merely a moment ago.
The opposite sometimes happens too though. I’ve always really warmed to Mariella Frostrup (yes, she of the gorgeous voice), but her advice used to regularly leave my eyes feeling like they might pop out on stalks at how absolutely wrong it felt (to me, at least). I’ve never actually written in to anyone even as a teenager, although I think my husband may feel I’m permanently penning a very long letter to him. And actually, he’s totally up there with Sally Brampton on dispensing excellent advice, so that’s really a problem of his own making.
I realised as I wrote this that they’re both girls’ names, so even more welcome symmetry.
Ps. For anyone who looked at the first photo and noticed my arm masquerading as a tree trunk and my little finger as a branch: bravo, we’re on the same wavelength :)
Pps. Holding up two hardback books in one hand is such a feat of hand strength, there’s really no additional resources left for positioning my arm so that it doesn’t look like it belongs to some sort of strange Gollum creature.
I read Allison last year and absolutely loved it. I’m on a bit of a graphic novel run at the moment - another favourite is Victory Point by Owen Pomery (coincidentally Lizzy Stewart’s partner, I think). I really really want to live in Victory Point...
Oh Florence! You've taken me back to being a 12 year old again. In Australia we had Dolly magazine and I waited with bated breath for each edition. I loved the agony column too, for the reasons you said but also because sometimes, the relief to realise you weren't the only one to feel/ worry/ ponder about some agonising worry.
Another wonderful newsletter, thank you. I'm off to search for those books.
Take care 😊