Illyria by Elizabeth Hand Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Hand
Tags: Fiction, Juvenile Fiction, Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction, Cousins, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 10-12), Social Issues, Interpersonal relations, Theater, Performing Arts, Love & Romance, incest, Adolescence, Social Issues - Adolescence, Performing Arts - Theater
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Lady Macbeth. There were no photographs of her as an old woman.
55
I turned and slowly walked over to the mirror. Whatever enchantment I had felt or carried earlier when I'd worn the cape and sat inside the theater was gone now. I looked like an ordinary fifteen-year-old girl wearing new boots that were already scuffed, and clothes from Sears and Gimbels.
"Okay, that's squared away," called Aunt Kate. "We can get it out again next weekend."
I looked over to see my aunt coming down the stairs.
"I'm not glamorous," I said. I didn't feel sad, just resigned. "Rogan is more glamorous than I am. Everyone is."
My aunt walked over to stand beside me at the mirror. She pulled a stray wisp of hair behind my ear and stared at our reflections.
"Rogan's not glamorous."
"How can you even say that?" I looked away so she wouldn't see tears in my eyes. "He's so beautiful. And what you said about talent-- he has that voice..."
"No, Maddy. Beauty isn't glamour. It's not the same thing at all." She stroked my hair. "Do you know what glamour means?"
"Beautiful." I spat the word. "Perfect, talented--"
"That's not what it means, Madeline." She shook her head. "Glamour --it has the same root as the word grammar. It is a kind of knowledge, of learning. That means it's something that can be taught. It can be learned."
She put her hands on my shoulders and straightened them. "Your great-great-grandmother wasn't beautiful, Maddy."
"Gee, thanks. Since I'm supposed to look like her."
"You're actually much prettier than she was," said Aunt Kate. "You
56
have beautiful eyes, your skin's cleared up. And you're taller. She was quite petite; these days you need to be tall. And your teeth are much better--she never had her teeth fixed."
"That's not grammar," I said sullenly. "None of that is stuff I learned."
"No. But you can learn other things. Words, how to speak and walk. How to make your voice carry. Diction."
"That sounds horrible."
"Think of it like this: you're building a house, a beautiful house, a little bit at a time out of all these things--your voice, your body, your memory, how you move. If you do it right, if you put all the elements together, something happens. Something comes to live in that space you've made, inside you. Then you go onstage and people see it. They see you, but they also see this other--thing--that you've created. That you've built, that you're inside of."
"Oh, right," I said. "Like now I'm a goddamn carpenter."
She laughed. "It's like Latin, Maddy. That's grammar, too. But you studied it and learned it and now you're good at it. Your mind is attuned to it. You have a gift" She turned me so that I looked at her squarely. "You have talent."
"Not like Rogan."
"Rogan is talented, yes." She sounded impatient. "But the tail wags the dog with him."
"I don't even know what means."
She sighed. "It's late. You'd better get home; we need to stay in everyone's good graces."
I walked to the door, contrite. "Thanks, Aunt Kate. It was great-- it was the best time I ever had."
57
"It's only going to get better," she said, and kissed me good night.
At home I went into the living room and found the enormous old dictionary that had been my grandfather's. I opened it to glamour and read a definition similar to what Aunt Kate had told me; but also something else.
A corruption of GRAMMAR, meaning GRAMARYE.
1. An enchantment or spell; an illusion of beauty.
I set the book down and looked out the window. In Aunt Kate's carriage house a single lamp burned, and in Rogan's window as well. Ghost lights; gramarye.
I turned the light off in the living room and went upstairs to bed.
***
WE DIDN'T JUST SEE BUTLEY . OVER THE NEXT FEW
weeks, Rogan and I saw Pippin and Measure for Measure and A Streetcar Named Desire and Jumpers and A Little Night Music. We went on Friday nights, and sometimes Saturday, and even weekend matinees. A few times Mr. Sullivan accompanied us, along with Aunt Kate.
This was embarrassing at first,
55
I turned and slowly walked over to the mirror. Whatever enchantment I had felt or carried earlier when I'd worn the cape and sat inside the theater was gone now. I looked like an ordinary fifteen-year-old girl wearing new boots that were already scuffed, and clothes from Sears and Gimbels.
"Okay, that's squared away," called Aunt Kate. "We can get it out again next weekend."
I looked over to see my aunt coming down the stairs.
"I'm not glamorous," I said. I didn't feel sad, just resigned. "Rogan is more glamorous than I am. Everyone is."
My aunt walked over to stand beside me at the mirror. She pulled a stray wisp of hair behind my ear and stared at our reflections.
"Rogan's not glamorous."
"How can you even say that?" I looked away so she wouldn't see tears in my eyes. "He's so beautiful. And what you said about talent-- he has that voice..."
"No, Maddy. Beauty isn't glamour. It's not the same thing at all." She stroked my hair. "Do you know what glamour means?"
"Beautiful." I spat the word. "Perfect, talented--"
"That's not what it means, Madeline." She shook her head. "Glamour --it has the same root as the word grammar. It is a kind of knowledge, of learning. That means it's something that can be taught. It can be learned."
She put her hands on my shoulders and straightened them. "Your great-great-grandmother wasn't beautiful, Maddy."
"Gee, thanks. Since I'm supposed to look like her."
"You're actually much prettier than she was," said Aunt Kate. "You
56
have beautiful eyes, your skin's cleared up. And you're taller. She was quite petite; these days you need to be tall. And your teeth are much better--she never had her teeth fixed."
"That's not grammar," I said sullenly. "None of that is stuff I learned."
"No. But you can learn other things. Words, how to speak and walk. How to make your voice carry. Diction."
"That sounds horrible."
"Think of it like this: you're building a house, a beautiful house, a little bit at a time out of all these things--your voice, your body, your memory, how you move. If you do it right, if you put all the elements together, something happens. Something comes to live in that space you've made, inside you. Then you go onstage and people see it. They see you, but they also see this other--thing--that you've created. That you've built, that you're inside of."
"Oh, right," I said. "Like now I'm a goddamn carpenter."
She laughed. "It's like Latin, Maddy. That's grammar, too. But you studied it and learned it and now you're good at it. Your mind is attuned to it. You have a gift" She turned me so that I looked at her squarely. "You have talent."
"Not like Rogan."
"Rogan is talented, yes." She sounded impatient. "But the tail wags the dog with him."
"I don't even know what means."
She sighed. "It's late. You'd better get home; we need to stay in everyone's good graces."
I walked to the door, contrite. "Thanks, Aunt Kate. It was great-- it was the best time I ever had."
57
"It's only going to get better," she said, and kissed me good night.
At home I went into the living room and found the enormous old dictionary that had been my grandfather's. I opened it to glamour and read a definition similar to what Aunt Kate had told me; but also something else.
A corruption of GRAMMAR, meaning GRAMARYE.
1. An enchantment or spell; an illusion of beauty.
I set the book down and looked out the window. In Aunt Kate's carriage house a single lamp burned, and in Rogan's window as well. Ghost lights; gramarye.
I turned the light off in the living room and went upstairs to bed.
***
WE DIDN'T JUST SEE BUTLEY . OVER THE NEXT FEW
weeks, Rogan and I saw Pippin and Measure for Measure and A Streetcar Named Desire and Jumpers and A Little Night Music. We went on Friday nights, and sometimes Saturday, and even weekend matinees. A few times Mr. Sullivan accompanied us, along with Aunt Kate.
This was embarrassing at first,
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