Recently finished reading the late British writer Diana Athill's "Stet," although the Chinese version of the book has only over 70,000 words, it took me nearly a month to finish this fragmented autobiographical memoir. Perhaps it was the shared experience of being a female editor in publishing, or perhaps it was the emotional experiences of being unmarried and childless, or perhaps the religious void of having no faith, that resonated with me countless times during my reading. Her life was not particularly wealthy, and could even be described as impoverished, yet every chapter exudes a rich sense of authenticity.
There are occasional feelings of loneliness and depression, occasional complaints and despair about fate, occasional joy in seeing walls covered with green plants, and occasional sorrow and peace after losing a loved one. Before reading this book, I was only curious about how a 109-year-old woman fought against the societal shackles on women—marriage. But after reading, I realized that this idea of resistance may only exist in the family concepts of Eastern people. This also answers, from another perspective, the subconscious dynamics of my longing to go abroad.
Cultural differences hide a natural filter; no matter how social news is reported, we always tend to have unrealistic fantasies about the unknown environment. Thus, pessimistic realism is often more pragmatic than optimism.
In the smoothly flowing chapters, I saw this century-spanning elder's journey from the confusion of birth to the helplessness of old age, yet I did not see her fear of death. It made me ponder whether knowing that death will inevitably come is what leads one to choose to live more profoundly? Therefore, her lifestyle, which others might see as "eccentric," felt humorous and honest to me while reading, and after closing the book, I couldn't help but smile—this is what I want.
Educated by her father to "learn to rely on oneself for a living," her independence meant that after graduating from university, she did not prioritize marriage like traditional women of her time, but instead began to plan her career. This mindset, in today's context, does not seem "feminist" at all, but rather reflects a more responsible attitude towards her own life. Indeed, she did this throughout the book. Compared to feminism, she had a clearer sense of independence, but she did not evade the responsibilities and obligations she should bear, such as caring for her equally long-lived mother; discussing her inheritance with her nephews; or naturally becoming lovers with her partner and then calmly stepping back due to the other's marriage, ultimately evolving their relationship into a familial friendship. Decades later, she accompanied him to the end of his life. Everything seemed so logical, like the green plants creeping along the walls.
Regarding money, she did not have excessive desires; although she lived in her cousin's house until her death, this did not affect her over fifty years of career, during which she discovered many literary giants, including Nobel Prize winner V.S. Naipaul. Perhaps, in that "male-pleasing" social environment, she had to view herself through a male lens, but she was clearer about what it would mean to become more determined and confident by doing things that seemed "ridiculous and boring" to men. Fortunately, she did not become "foolishly ashamed" like men. Following the same logic, she clearly distinguished between editors and publishers, giving herself a more defined professional identity. When she spoke about these matters, she simply brushed it off with "doing that would make me uncomfortable," a nonchalance that I also admire and pursue.
Regarding emotions, her attitude was, "I have no expectations of men; only when I am alone do I truly feel complete." As she entered her later years, she still dated and had a sex life, but these relationships remained within the most appropriate boundaries. She lived with clarity and wisdom, fully following her feelings without harboring grudges. This way of handling matters made me feel for the first time that "high emotional intelligence" is a rather tiresome term. She said, "A woman's self often gets lost in sexual activities; many people only slowly find their existence beyond sex after middle age, and some may never find it." These words, seemingly reckless, are actually insights gained from deep pain. Perhaps only after certain experiences can one understand, but once understood, it is hard not to reflect on one's own life.
The topic of "becoming a mother," stemming from emotions, also follows the principle of prioritizing "self-feelings." Regarding abortion, she candidly acknowledged her selfishness and laziness but did not feel guilty about it. This calmness might even make one feel for a moment that she did not anticipate the birth of this child, and losing it brought a sense of relief. But she did not; her nonchalance made it seem as if any unexpected event in her life was destined to leave.
Besides relationships between men and women, there are many equally important things, such as painting, sewing, gardening, and dancing. "When we discuss old age, it often makes people hesitant because we neither want to make others nor ourselves too despondent, so we tend to focus on the more pleasant aspects of old age, such as talking about young people, discovering new hobbies, etc." These continuously emerging new interests in life were not limited to her old age; one could say she spent her entire life trying various different things. Today, we often say, "Life is for experiencing," but how many can truly practice it? Let alone in that relatively conservative patriarchal society decades ago.
Regarding death, she said: the value of life does not lie in the dead things, but in the worn and damaged shell that contains the self, along with the self-awareness of the self. All of this will, like everyone else, head towards nothingness. When she wrote this book, she was nearly ninety years old; it would not be an exaggeration to describe her as "old in both body and mind." I do not know if she was also pondering: the fatal blow that takes away life is far less terrifying and distressing than the pain endured in life. But, as someone without religious beliefs, she had no excessive fantasies about death, as if waiting for a bus or having a meal was just as ordinary. Thinking this way, death also becomes unrelated to the observer.
To be honest, when I first opened this book, it took me a long time because I couldn't believe that someone could truly live such a "shocking and unconventional" life. I took a long time to convince myself that this was an autobiographical memoir. Thus, from the introduction to the postscript, I read word by word. Although some plots intersect and some characters reappear, I still couldn't fully accept it even after finishing. Perhaps some things must be experienced personally to be believed. I just don't know if I have the courage to continue like her.
Perhaps, as she said in her book: when people look back on their lives, they will see scattered regrets. After all, everyone understands their own shortcomings and laziness, the overlooked places, the past oversights... A person, for countless reasons, may not even be able to realize their own ideals. Since there is no medicine for regret in this world, it is better to forget early.
The End