What a pleasure to find you here. I gave Oranges to my partner kim more than 30 years ago .. she was soon coming out to her religious fundamentalist family on the coast of Maine, and also raised to be a missionary. It was a profound and cherished read. We felt seen. We felt real. We’re still together and your book offered strength and wisdom and humor.. the only way thru.
If it's any consolation to you, some of us who grew up with both birth parents, and were in "the right crib" thanks to no particular supernatural being, but to efficient nursing staff, often ponder why we ended up in the families we have!
As to your final question in this post, I think there is no definitive answer to be had, precisely because even tiny events in our lives might shed fresh perspective on who and what we are, even if we (think we) have a fairly good idea of what constitutes our core being in terms of character traits and identity on any number of levels. We all have a narrative about ourselves. Everyone else we have met also has a narrative about us. It would be impossible to bring all that info into one single Venn diagram. The lens would reveal a very small thumbnail of a person -- which is hardly helpful, is it?
Thanks to Jeanette for her beautiful humanity. As a self exiled northern lass (the only way possible to make my best jigsaw) I revel when producing a genuine new piece of myself. Some of my pieces are porous but they seem to hold in place, some are wedged in. Like many I am keen to get the jigsaw done. It can't ever be done... sometimes it's nice to tell yourself it is. Unexpectedly I find myself with a huge hole in the centre of my jigsaw on account of my mum receiving a stage 4 diagnosis and hastily departing this world. I haven't felt like jigging for the last few months. I've created a new puzzle called "does it look like I don't have a mum?" people's eyes tell you the answer. I don't like this new puzzle and wouldn't recommend it to anyone. Jeanette has made me feel inspired, it might be time to go back, to whittle away and create some new piece of myself jigsaw.
Jeanette and Shelagh Delaney have always been touchstones to me they embody a grit and triumph in unconvention, a key part of the invisible glue that holds myself jigsaw together.
I owe you Jeanette a wealth of knowledge to my own teen years. I am adopted like yourself. There are moments where I wonder about identity and self-love. Things are complicated now. I remember watching Oranges are Not the Only Fruit on terrestrial tv. How does a heterosexual male feel connected to someone who obviously was conflicted? Perhaps my journey is full of like-minded existential queries. I never kissed a man but somehow my attraction to lesbian cinema suits me. Am I confused? I’d like to think it’s part of my sexual evolution. I rarely feel like I belong. I was always an outsider, an outlier. Poetry that spouts like a fountainhead is truly, deeply me. So I thank you Jeanette for opening my heart again. I know you must hear so many stories how your readers were radically changed by your genre of queer literature. Yeah I need to purge my Irish, alternative soul more.
I don't think I've ever read anything so quickly, as if in a canoe falling over a waterfall....and then back up to the top to do it again. Two great titles, and all the other words around them, thank you
I loved this. I tend to read writers not books. Does that make sense? I have read you for a long time. You are part of my library and you make me think. I like the jigsaw analogy. I’m not adopted, but still look for pieces. The picture keeps changing.
"If we are not searching for pieces that fit our changing, growing, desiring picture, we are likely being fitted into someone else's picture." This entire piece moved me profoundly, Jeanette. My inner pieces have been shifting like maybe miniature ice floes. Not apart, but closer together. And I just realized it. Thank you from my heart.
I just read this. As an adoptee, there was a line in this book that hit me so hard/made me feel seen - I can’t remember it exactly, but it was about how for an adoptee it’s like landing in the middle of a play after curtains up.
Somehow this line saved me from all the unexplained feelings I’d ever had.
I always hoped I might get to thank you in person.
Somehow, it seems to me that whatever „picture Mrs Winterson was painting on the lid of the box“ with the jigsaw, was related to herself. The pieces of the jigsaw inside were hers, not yours. And you were the missing piece she could not recognize.
Besides, a baby is not compounded of scattered pieces, even though one brings along a certain amount of ‚ancestors luggage‘ saved in the DNA, but also in something infinitely subtle in spiritual sense. As a baby grows, external influences will start to cast shadows or light upon a young being. Nevertheless, babys often have their ‚secret‘ potentials, which can be thwarted by the ones surrounding them – whoever they might be. It is then that a child starts to experience the initial motions of an original self being splitted and, consequently, scattered about: the jigsaw.
Against all odds, your specific potential to be imaginative, your love for reading and writing were amazingly strong to cast light on your life path, shaping you accordingly to your potential – or rather, your truth.
As for the boxes… Each one of us lives in one. Everything is there: the scattered pieces, the conjuction of principles, potentials, dreams – but also nightmares. It is a fascinating issue to be explored. But at the moment one tries to assign her/his personal box to another human being – being a baby, small child, adolescent or adult, then serious problems may start. Even wars.
What a pleasure to find you here. I gave Oranges to my partner kim more than 30 years ago .. she was soon coming out to her religious fundamentalist family on the coast of Maine, and also raised to be a missionary. It was a profound and cherished read. We felt seen. We felt real. We’re still together and your book offered strength and wisdom and humor.. the only way thru.
If it's any consolation to you, some of us who grew up with both birth parents, and were in "the right crib" thanks to no particular supernatural being, but to efficient nursing staff, often ponder why we ended up in the families we have!
As to your final question in this post, I think there is no definitive answer to be had, precisely because even tiny events in our lives might shed fresh perspective on who and what we are, even if we (think we) have a fairly good idea of what constitutes our core being in terms of character traits and identity on any number of levels. We all have a narrative about ourselves. Everyone else we have met also has a narrative about us. It would be impossible to bring all that info into one single Venn diagram. The lens would reveal a very small thumbnail of a person -- which is hardly helpful, is it?
Not sure she was actually asking readers to answer her.... 0.o
Thanks to Jeanette for her beautiful humanity. As a self exiled northern lass (the only way possible to make my best jigsaw) I revel when producing a genuine new piece of myself. Some of my pieces are porous but they seem to hold in place, some are wedged in. Like many I am keen to get the jigsaw done. It can't ever be done... sometimes it's nice to tell yourself it is. Unexpectedly I find myself with a huge hole in the centre of my jigsaw on account of my mum receiving a stage 4 diagnosis and hastily departing this world. I haven't felt like jigging for the last few months. I've created a new puzzle called "does it look like I don't have a mum?" people's eyes tell you the answer. I don't like this new puzzle and wouldn't recommend it to anyone. Jeanette has made me feel inspired, it might be time to go back, to whittle away and create some new piece of myself jigsaw.
Jeanette and Shelagh Delaney have always been touchstones to me they embody a grit and triumph in unconvention, a key part of the invisible glue that holds myself jigsaw together.
Thank you for that. x
I owe you Jeanette a wealth of knowledge to my own teen years. I am adopted like yourself. There are moments where I wonder about identity and self-love. Things are complicated now. I remember watching Oranges are Not the Only Fruit on terrestrial tv. How does a heterosexual male feel connected to someone who obviously was conflicted? Perhaps my journey is full of like-minded existential queries. I never kissed a man but somehow my attraction to lesbian cinema suits me. Am I confused? I’d like to think it’s part of my sexual evolution. I rarely feel like I belong. I was always an outsider, an outlier. Poetry that spouts like a fountainhead is truly, deeply me. So I thank you Jeanette for opening my heart again. I know you must hear so many stories how your readers were radically changed by your genre of queer literature. Yeah I need to purge my Irish, alternative soul more.
So happy you’re back. We need you.
I don't think I've ever read anything so quickly, as if in a canoe falling over a waterfall....and then back up to the top to do it again. Two great titles, and all the other words around them, thank you
Have missed your writing Jeanette. You always make me think a lot, and laugh!
Love this beyond the beyond
Having read and been inspired by everything you’ve written since Oranges, it is such a pleasure to find you weaving your words each week on here.
I loved this. I tend to read writers not books. Does that make sense? I have read you for a long time. You are part of my library and you make me think. I like the jigsaw analogy. I’m not adopted, but still look for pieces. The picture keeps changing.
Such a strange and complex "reality" being adopted. Very grateful to you for finding words that put some of the pieces together for me.
"If we are not searching for pieces that fit our changing, growing, desiring picture, we are likely being fitted into someone else's picture." This entire piece moved me profoundly, Jeanette. My inner pieces have been shifting like maybe miniature ice floes. Not apart, but closer together. And I just realized it. Thank you from my heart.
your piece just landed at the right moment ... no picture in the mist right now, but inside becoming clearer, thankyou
I just read this. As an adoptee, there was a line in this book that hit me so hard/made me feel seen - I can’t remember it exactly, but it was about how for an adoptee it’s like landing in the middle of a play after curtains up.
Somehow this line saved me from all the unexplained feelings I’d ever had.
I always hoped I might get to thank you in person.
Shine on Jeanette
Jeanette is the best !
Somehow, it seems to me that whatever „picture Mrs Winterson was painting on the lid of the box“ with the jigsaw, was related to herself. The pieces of the jigsaw inside were hers, not yours. And you were the missing piece she could not recognize.
Besides, a baby is not compounded of scattered pieces, even though one brings along a certain amount of ‚ancestors luggage‘ saved in the DNA, but also in something infinitely subtle in spiritual sense. As a baby grows, external influences will start to cast shadows or light upon a young being. Nevertheless, babys often have their ‚secret‘ potentials, which can be thwarted by the ones surrounding them – whoever they might be. It is then that a child starts to experience the initial motions of an original self being splitted and, consequently, scattered about: the jigsaw.
Against all odds, your specific potential to be imaginative, your love for reading and writing were amazingly strong to cast light on your life path, shaping you accordingly to your potential – or rather, your truth.
As for the boxes… Each one of us lives in one. Everything is there: the scattered pieces, the conjuction of principles, potentials, dreams – but also nightmares. It is a fascinating issue to be explored. But at the moment one tries to assign her/his personal box to another human being – being a baby, small child, adolescent or adult, then serious problems may start. Even wars.