In this charming but powerful memoir, Penelope Lively reports from beyond the horizon of old age. She describes what old age feels like for those who have arrived there and considers the implications of this new demographic. She looks at the context of a life and times, the history and archaeology that is actually being made as we live out our lives in real time, in her case World War II; post war penny-pinching Britain; the Suez crisis; the Cold War and up to the present day. She examines the tricks and truths of memory. She looks back over a lifetime of reading and writing. And finally she looks at her identifying cargo of possessions - two ammonites, a cat, a pair of American ducks and a leaping fish sherd, amongst others.…
"I love the way she goes on being curious about life. She cherishes the books she’s read, and she goes on reading. She is realistic, which Simone de Beauvoir wasn’t. Simone de Beauvoir was angry about ageing, whereas Penelope is more gracious. She makes the best of things. She does the bits of gardening she can do and doesn’t weep over the bits she can’t. She cherishes the objects that remind her of moments in her life that have been very valuable to her. On the whole, she hits a note of happy stoicism: This is how it is. I’m in another chapter of my life now. She doesn’t pretend. Neither Beauvoir nor Lively pretend at all about old age, but Penelope Lively has a happier attitude. A lot of the things she enjoys are still with her. I can’t remember what she has for breakfast now, but it is something rather nice. Has it got a spoonful of honey in it? She values the moments in her day, as I do: the moments in the day when you feel that, really, this is as nice as it always was. There’s a very nice bit where one of her grandchildren gets a typewriter. They all laugh about going to granny for technological advice. But her fingers remember exactly how to do it. I thought that was very nice, the idea that certain memories don’t go away—and that there are some things you can do that younger people can’t. Absolutely, a Proustian ‘time regained.’ But then one has to recognise that some people lose their memories. Penelope didn’t, but Iris Murdoch, for instance, did. It’s a blessing when you have your memories intact and can enjoy them. I do say to myself, sometimes, when I’m groaning and moaning about this and that: ‘Why don’t I try and think of all the good things that have happened instead of worrying about missing the train tomorrow?’ It sometimes works. I’ll go back to that place where we had such a lovely time and revisit it in my memory. As Penelope says, your memory bank fills up. So it is a pity if you can’t find something good to remember. I think we all do, if not intentionally. We have things that remind us of who we were or who other people were, things that, for some mysterious reason, we’ve never thrown away. They become more precious because they’re salvaged. The little baby Jesus that Poppet made when she was at school was, in fact, made by my son Joe. It is not quite as described, but it is absolutely adorable, and it is in a little silver box in my bedroom. It is a miracle that this little thing made at school has survived. Whenever I look at it, which I sometimes do, it takes me back to when they were at primary school and just little things. And that’s happy. No, all those disappear. One just remembers the good times we had."
