Whenever I visit my parents' house, I spend a few private moments in front of one particular watercolour painting.
It is a scene of laundry drying in the backyards of a Montreal suburb in very early spring, sometimes in the 1960s. The artist who painted it was my grandmother and like much of her work, the medium is unassuming and the scene is quietly domestic. And yet, I am transfixed at every viewing. When I stand before that painting, I feel as if, for just a moment, I have stepped back in time and into her life.
It is a scene of laundry drying in the backyards of a Montreal suburb in very early spring, sometimes in the 1960s. The artist who painted it was my grandmother and like much of her work, the medium is unassuming and the scene is quietly domestic. And yet, I am transfixed at every viewing. When I stand before that painting, I feel as if, for just a moment, I have stepped back in time and into her life.
A few weeks ago, the cryptic crossword setter Anax commented on this blog, sharing an old clue from a Times crossword:
Every second of every minute, someone plants a flower (5)
Anax has probably written thousands of clues and read thousands more, yet this one stayed with him, he said, because "it was one of those extremely rare ‘ideal’ clues where everything fitted perfectly."
Anax has probably written thousands of clues and read thousands more, yet this one stayed with him, he said, because "it was one of those extremely rare ‘ideal’ clues where everything fitted perfectly."
In her Harry Potter series, J. K. Rowlings describes horcruxes: objects in which a wizard can hide a piece of his or her soul in the hopes of achieving immortality. In the books, it's considered an evil practice, but if you take it out of the relm of good and evil, the idea of a piece of us living on long after we've gone is beautiful.
I knew exactly what he meant. Don't we all? Those rare creations that cause something to resonate inside us. The hum of something being perfect. The feeling, as Carol Shield wrote of a character falling in love, that is "how a Chinese gong must feel when it is struck by a hammer in its absolute center."
When I put the question to the Cryptic Crossword Society — what clue has stayed with you over the years? — answers came back fast and furious. Some were classics (Senselessness, 1), others were whole narratives (Auracaria's disclosure of his cancer diagnosis), some I didn't get (Uncommonly tight, 2, 5, 2, 1, 4). One in particular was so clever, it's become a new favourite: Eggs on toast (6).
When I put the question to the Cryptic Crossword Society — what clue has stayed with you over the years? — answers came back fast and furious. Some were classics (Senselessness, 1), others were whole narratives (Auracaria's disclosure of his cancer diagnosis), some I didn't get (Uncommonly tight, 2, 5, 2, 1, 4). One in particular was so clever, it's become a new favourite: Eggs on toast (6).
Every writer wants to leave a horcrux: a brilliant novel, an essay that the reader turns over again and again in her mind (the way I do with Joan Didion's "Goodbye to All That"), a perfect metaphor—perhaps one about a Chinese gong—that is remembered ten years after it is first absorbed.
I may be over-reaching but really great cryptic crossword clues don't just seem like wordplay to me; they seem like poetry. And doesn't a really great poem carries a piece of the poet's soul?
If you are a writer of clues, tell me: what is your "horcrux"? If you are a poet, dancer, photographer, artist, what is yours?
If you are a writer of clues, tell me: what is your "horcrux"? If you are a poet, dancer, photographer, artist, what is yours?
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