A last look at the depressing biography of Jean Rhys

The previous articles in the series inspired by Carole Angier's biography Jean Rhys: Life and Work have covered most of the book's content of particular interest to me and relevance to this blog.

The mining for inspiration has been resulting in diminishing returns. While there is still more material in the book that attracts my attention and inspires commentary, it is mostly more of the same: it enhances topics already covered and supports points already made; it provides further descriptions of Jean Rhys's attributes and deficiencies; it gives yet more depressing and exasperating examples of her infantile personality, lack of life skills, bad behaviour and failure to learn from experience. 

However, there is still a little more to say in the form of a few miscellaneous thoughts and connections before leaving the biography behind at last and moving on to other things.

More elements in common with other writers
The article about Jean Rhys and Antonia White lists many elements that these two novelists had in common; several other articles, including the one about feeling different, mention some more familiar names. 

In addition to all that, Jean Rhys resembles Ouida and several others in her lack of financial sense, common sense and sense of humour. Ouida lost many letters and cherished mementos during her frequent moves from hotel to hotel and villa to villa; it was much the same for Jean Rhys.

Reading about her appalling treatment of her unfortunate and long-suffering husbands and the terrible effect that this had on them reminded me of other writers whose husbands were much the worse for the relationship:  Alison Uttley, Mary Webb, Daphne du Maurier and L. M. Montgomery are some who come immediately to mind. 

An even closer look at Rachel Ferguson and The Brontës Went to Woolworths

The previous article in the series inspired by The Brontës Went to Woolworths contains material that suggests that Rachel Ferguson was well aware of the smaller problems experienced by people who live in fantasy worlds and have imaginary relationships; this article contains material to support the case that she also knew about some of the greater dangers. 

While the family game is mostly just fun and mutually beneficial for the Carne family and the Toddingtons when they eventually get together in the real world, it isn't all good: Rachel Ferguson describes some rather alarming undercurrents and sinister side effects.  

White magic with a dark side
After first reading about the unexpectedly positive and successful outcome of the Carne family's fantasies, it occurred to me that the book was another example of what I think of as white magic in writing, similar in that respect to Stella Gibbons's novel My American.

It is very common for example for people who have fantasies about someone to feel great disappointment and disillusionment for one reason or another when they first meet them, but the opposite happens in The Brontës Went to Woolworths. This gave me the idea that Rachel Ferguson wrote her book partly to counteract some beliefs about the negative effects of living in the imagination. 

While a closer look at the story did reveal some difficulties, Rachel Ferguson describes how Deirdre dealt with them successfully. While on balance the messages in the book still seemed to be positive, a further, deeper, reading uncovered some elements that tell a different story. While no inner worlds may come crashing down, some of the characters suffer in other ways. There is a dark side to the game the Carnes play.

Jean Rhys: more about witches, magic and energy vampires

In the previous article in the series inspired by Carole Angier's biography Jean Rhys: Life and Work, I said that Carole Angier explains Jean Rhys's life and personality mainly in psychological terms. She does mention witches and magic and the terrible draining effect that Jean Rhys had on people, but she leaves these topics mostly unexplored and unexplained. 

This article has more to say about these sinister elements, and from an alternative perspective.

More about witches 
Jean Rhys's witchlike personality is something that she shared with other writers: Stella Benson for example was described by Vera Brittain as being “delicate, witchlike, remote”, and descriptions of Ouida and Dorothy Parker in old age make them seem very similar to each other; they too grew to be very witchlike.

The writer Francis Wyndham, who encouraged Jean Rhys to work on Wide Sargasso Sea, said that he thought she was something of a – white – witch in that she was very alluring, she could attract any man she wanted and definitely had a charismatic power.

Her manner and appearance when young and her writing talent when older may seem enough to explain why people gave her so much money and help and endured her dreadful behaviour and lack of gratitude, but she may also have used a kind of mind power, something I think of as psychological black magic or unconscious witchcraft, to get what she wanted and to draw in, hold and exploit unprotected people.

Carole Angier tells us that Jean Rhys felt that she had never lived. This may seem odd in someone who on paper at least had quite a full life, but it makes sense if we accept the witch theory. Some people rarely engage with life or speak or act from their real selves: something timeless and unchangeable operates through them instead. This possible possession could  explain the failure to grow up: the real self has no opportunity to develop.

Similarly, such people are like black holes and bottomless pits: they never feel that they have enough no matter what. This makes sense if we understand that little or nothing gets through to nourish their real selves: the witch takes it all. 

Witches are traditionally said to sacrifice children; Jean Rhys's baby son died because of her thoughtlessness. 

Charlotte Brontë and Jane Eyre: some 'coincidences' revisited

The 'coincidence' of Charlotte Brontë's childhood obsession with Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington and the subsequent appearance in her life of Arthur Bell Nichols was first mentioned in an article about being careful what you dwell on and again in an article featuring Jean Rhys.  

Another 'coincidence' in Charlotte Brontë's life that is worth highlighting and was also mentioned earlier is her accident involving a horse that echoes something that happened in Jane Eyre, which was published seven years before the event. 

Other people have noticed these connections. While they may assume that they are just interesting, but not particularly significant, coincidences, I thought at the time that certain unseen influences were at work, and I still think so.

Many years have passed since I first mentioned these two 'coincidences'. Since then, I have come across other examples of such coincidences and accidents. 

Something I recently read in Carole Angier's biography of Jean Rhys inspired me to take another look at the two incidents involving horses in the light of some of the later discoveries and produce an updated and enhanced version of events and my ideas about them.

Jane Eyre and the horse incident
The incident involving Jane Eyre and a horse occurs when she first encounters Mr Rochester. 

On the way to post a letter on a freezing winter's day, she sits on a stile for a while. She hears the sound of approaching hooves, then Mr Rochester comes into view on his black horse. Just as they are passing her, the horse slips on the ice and comes crashing down. Mr Rochester is hurt, so he asks Jane to catch the horse for him. This is not an easy task:

“I...went up to the tall steed; I endeavoured to catch the bridle, but it was a spirited thing, and would not let me come near its head; I made effort on effort, though in vain: meantime, I was mortally afraid of its trampling fore-feet.”

From Jane Eyre

Jean Rhys, Isaac Asimov, and some nightmare scenarios

Carole Angier's biography Jean Rhys: Life and Work mentions two incidents in one of Jean Rhys's novels that could be classed as small-scale nightmare scenarios.

I was reminded of this recently by something I read about tunnels in Isaac Asimov's memoirs; I decided to follow up Carole Angier's leads and look at the novel; the material I found has inspired a few comments.

Sasha's first nightmare 
Carole Angier refers to a horrible dream that Sasha, the main character in Jean Rhys's very depressing autobiographical novel Good Morning Midnight (1939), has on her return to Paris. This is the relevant extract from the novel:

“I am in the passage of a tube station in London. Many people are in front of me; many people are behind me. Everywhere there are placards printed in red letters: This Way to the Exhibition, This Way to the Exhibition. But I don't want the way to the exhibition -I want the way out. There are passages to the right and passages to the left, but no exit sign. Everywhere the fingers point and the placards read: This Way to the Exhibition...The steel finger points along a long stone passage. This Way - This Way - This Way to the Exhibition....”

This is uncannily similar to my own experiences in one or two huge tube stations in London. I still remember the crowds of people in the underground passages walking along like zombies, the long tunnel-like corridors, the flights of stairs, the inadequate and misleading signage and how it all became more and more stressful.

I followed the signs up some steps, along some corridors, round some corners and ended up where I started! I remember thinking to myself, “I don't want the Northern Line, I want the way out”! 

Being unable to find the exit can easily turn into a nightmare. It can feel like being trapped in Hell with no way out. I think that Jean Rhys was remembering her own experience of the London tube system when she described Sasha's bad dream.

Sasha's second nightmare 
The second nightmare incident that Carole Angier mentions happens when Sasha's boss asks her to take a letter to a certain place in the building where she works. She doesn't understand where she has to go but accepts the errand anyway. 

Sasha immediately does the wrong thing:

“I turn and walk blindly through a door. It is a lavatory. They look sarcastic as they watch me going out by the right door.“

Jean Rhys: is psychology enough to explain everything?

The previous two articles in the series inspired by Carole Angier's biography Jean Rhys: Life and Work were created to answer one big question and one small one. One article gave some good reasons for reading such a depressing book; the other looked into the possibility that Diana Wynne Jones had used material from the biography in her book Black Maria. 

The time has now come to attempt to answer the question of questions: does Carole Angier's psychological interpretation of Jean Rhys's personality, behaviour and experiences cover and provide an explanation for everything? 

The connections and familiar metaphysical features and elements covered in previous articles support the idea that certain unseen influences were at work in Jean Rhys's life, but it is good practice to start with the most obvious explanations and move on and widen the enquiry only if these are found to be unsatisfactory.

Just as Aunt Maria operates on three levels, Jean Rhys and her life can be looked at from three viewpoints: the psychological, what might be called the occult, and something in between the two.

Carole Angier's psychological viewpoint is the first to be considered.

Jean Rhys's infantile personality
Carole Angier makes many insightful remarks about Jean Rhys and provides much biographical material to support her ideas. 

She makes the point that Jean Rhys never grew up. This is very obvious: we do not need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that one! 

The mystery of Jean Rhys, Aunt Maria, and Diana Wynne Jones

The article about Carole Angier's doubly-depressing biography of the novelist Jean Rhys includes an attempt to answer a big question the book raises: if it has such a bad effect, why read it and why comment on it? 

I said something relevant to this question a long time ago in the first article about Diana Wynne Jones's witch Aunt Maria: I persevere with some infuriating and/or depressing books because there are lessons to be learned and points and connections to be made from them. 

This article attempts to answer a small question that arose recently when I noticed a few similarities between Jean Rhys as described in Carole Angier's biography and the fictional Aunt Maria: could Diana Wynne Jones have been influenced by Jean Rhys: Life and Work when she was writing Black Maria aka Aunt Maria? 

After dealing with some of the more significant topics connected with Jean Rhys, I decided to investigate the possibility that Diana Wynne Jones had read Carole Angier's biography and, consciously or unconsciously, copied a little of the material for her children's book. 

I started by re-reading Black Maria in the light of what I had recently learned about Jean Rhys; some of the common elements I found this time around seemed worth highlighting - and more than just coincidence.

Wheelchairs and walking
Both Jean Rhys and Aunt Maria pretended to be more disabled than they really were. 

The first article about Aunt Maria mentions a scene in which the horrible old witch, who is supposedly can barely walk and spends much of her time in a wheelchair, is quite able to get up and go to the window when she sees something that angers her. 

When I first read this, I was immediately reminded of something I had read many years earlier about Jean Rhys while looking into the Jane Eyre connection: when she became angry with her assistant, she left her wheelchair in a flash to run to the door and lock it. 

The doubly-depressing biography of Jean Rhys

The depressing effect that reading some biographies can have on impressionable readers has been mentioned in several articles, in this one about balancing the books for example. 

Too much reading about people whose lives were mostly one long nightmare scenario and who seemed to be under a curse or evil spell can make us feel that we too are trapped in hell with no way out. 

Carole Angier's Jean Rhys: Life and Work is the worst of the depressing biographies that I have read to date.

Something that the novelist Rebecca West said about Jean Rhys's autobiographical book After Leaving Mr Mackenzie (1931) also applies to Jean Rhys's other books and to Carole Angier's biography - not to mention many other biographies and fictional works mentioned on here:

“It is doubtful if one ought to open this volume unless one is happily married, immensely rich, and in robust health; for if one is not entirely free from misery when one opens the book one will be at the suicide point long before one closes it.” 

This is exactly what I am talking about. Some books have an effect similar to that of the Dementors in Harry Potter! 

In addition to being overwhelmed by a general miasma of misery, readers may find some of the material acutely distressing: the details of the suffering that Jean Rhys's actions and lack of coping ability caused to others are very painful to read. The death from pneumonia of the tiny baby she put near a balcony door in the heart of winter, her physical violence against her husbands and the neglect of her dying third husband, who went unwashed and unfed, are some of the worst examples.

An important point here is that it may be even worse for readers for whom some of it comes very close to home. 

Jean Rhys and her witchlike personality

Just as psychological black magic is a major topic in this blog, so are witches, fictional or otherwise, unconscious or otherwise.

Carole Angier's biography Jean Rhys: Life and Work, which is generating a whole string of articles, contains material that suggests that Jean Rhys was witchlike in many ways. This material includes the devastating effect that she had on people close to her and her attitude, behaviour and experiences throughout her life. 

It was interesting to learn that in later years she became completely bent over, like an old witch in a fairytale.

This picture makes her look rather sinister:

A witch for a neighbour
Jean Rhys said herself that her neighbours in Holt in Norfolk called her crazy and a witch, and that her neighbours in the Devon village of Cheriton Fitzpaine also called her a witch. She said that one of these neighbours was a witch herself, and that there was black magic in the village!

The evil witch in action
Carole Angier tells us that in later life Jean Rhys had dreadful moods in which she became sinister, witchlike and cruel. As mentioned in the article about Diana Wynne Jones's evil witch Aunt Maria, in one of these episodes Jean terrified her nurse/assistant by locking the door to prevent escape. Carole Angier uses an interesting expression when recounting this incident:

“Janet had 'never been so frightened', 'she'd never wanted to get out of anywhere more'. As though by black magic, Jean had transferred her own worst feelings of terror and entrapment to another person. She had made someone suffer like her.” 

May Sinclair, Jean Rhys, L. M. Montgomery and the Brontës

After producing some articles about May Sinclair's novella The Flaw in the Crystal, I decided to investigate her background in the hope of finding some more material of interest. 

I found some very familiar biographical elements and other connections when reading about her life. I mentioned a blueprint for writers in an article in the Context and the Total Picture series; if I created a template for writers of interest, May Sinclair would tick many of the boxes.

I have seen, for example, the Celtic Connection in the biographies of many novelists, so it was no surprise to learn that May Sinclair had an Irish mother and a Scottish father.

It also came as no surprise when I found that she had some other things in common with Jean Rhys and L. M. Montgomery. May Sinclair too was interested in and inspired by the Brontës, whose works she may have first encountered in her father's private library rather than the local public library.

May Sinclair and Jean Rhys
May Sinclair was a very different person from Jean Rhys, but they had a few things in common:

They both wrote under assumed names. 

Both novelists lived for a while in Devon.

They both read voraciously as girls, partly for escape, and both later wrote Brontë-inspired books. 

They both had unsympathetic mothers who tried to force them to conform to the norm. They had some things to say about their childhood experiences that sound uncannily similar. 

Just as Jean Rhys's work is mostly autobiographical, so are some of May Sinclair's novels, Mary Olivier in particular. Mary Olivier's mother wants her to behave like a 'normal' girl:

“...you should try and behave a little more like other people.”

"You were different," she said. "You weren’t like any of the others. I was afraid of you.”

Jean Rhys, L. M. Montgomery, Jane Eyre and public libraries

Terry Pratchett has said that he owes a great debt to the public libraries that he used as a boy.

Jean Rhys and L. M. Montgomery are two more novelists who were great readers and had access to a public library when young. As girls they read Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre, which made a big impression on them and later influenced their writing.

Jean Rhys and the public library

As mentioned in the article about psychological black magic, Jean Rhys wrote a prequel to Jane Eyre: Wide Sargasso Sea is considered to be her finest work. 

Carole Angier says in her biography Jean Rhys: Life and Work that Jean Rhys was a member of the Hamilton Public Library in the British West Indies island of Dominica as a girl, and this was where she first encountered Jane Eyre. The course of her life might have been very different if she had not read this book at an impressionable age, and Wide Sargasso Sea might never have been written.

Jean Rhys had a lot of trouble with this book, which was probably started around 1945 but not published until 1966.

She said that she went to the local public library in Bude in Cornwall in 1957 to get a copy of Jane Eyre. She wanted to re-read it to refresh her memory of Mr Rochester's mad wife, whose story she was telling in Wide Sargasso Sea.

Jean Rhys, Jane Eyre and psychological black magic

Psychological black magic, the illegitimate use of subtle forces, is an unseen influence of particular interest. This blog is full of examples of and references to it. I have learned what to look out for over the years, and I have recently seen some material in Carole Angier's biography Jean Rhys: Life and Work that suggests to me that psychological black magic was at work in Jean Rhys's life.

This article covers a small coincidence involving names that reminds me of something similar in the life of Charlotte Brontë, with whose work Jean Rhys was very familiar.

First, some basic information.

Jean Rhys and Jane Eyre

Jean Rhys read Jane Eyre as a girl in Dominica. It made such an impression that decades later she wrote a prequel in the form of Wide Sargasso Sea, her most admired and commercially successful novel. 

I suspect that her imagination was particularly stirred when she read that Mr Rochester's wife also came from the British West Indies – Mr Rochester brought Bertha Mason home to England from Jamaica.

I also suspect that Jean Rhys wished that an English gentleman, someone similar to the romantic Mr. Rochester, would do the same for her! He would rescue her; he would take her away from her unsatisfactory life.

She was sent away from Dominica to school in England in 1907, the year of her 17th birthday. She hoped to find a feeling of belonging there. She may also have hoped to meet the English gentleman of her dreams there. As Mr Rochester says to Jane Eyre:

“...the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet, so all you can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain...”

Jean Rhys: feeling different and not belonging

Carole Angier's biography of the novelist Jean Rhys contains some very insightful remarks about her and her life. Some of these remarks are very similar to what I would have come up with myself if I had looked at the same source material. 

The miraculous deliverances and spiralling down elements of Jean Rhys's life have been introduced. This article covers some more key features: she felt different from most people and she felt that she didn't belong anywhere. 

Feeling different 

There is nothing unusual about Jean Rhys's feeling of being fundamentally different from the people around her; after reading biographies of other writers, I would think it very unusual if she didn't feel like that! It's what they all say; it goes with the territory. 

What does seem strange to me is how various people of interest quite independently describe their feelings and experiences in much the same words. 

Something that Carole Angier says about Jean Rhys could equally apply to many others, including Stella Benson and Antonia White:

“One of the strongest feelings Jean had always...was that she didn't fit in the world, that life was a game she had never learned how to play...She did not understand the rules.”

This is exactly how some people feel: everyone knows the rules of the game but them; everyone else knows how to behave, what to say, where to go and what to do, but they are baffled and clueless.

Such people may see the world as a club to which they will never belong no matter how much they want to and how hard they try. The article about Jean Rhys and Antonia White contains uncannily similar quotations about how something always goes wrong when they try to be like other people.

Jean Rhys: miraculous deliverances and spiralling down

As mentioned in the previous article about the novelist Jean Rhys, Carole Angier's biography is very comprehensive indeed. She has done huge amounts of research; she describes Jean Rhys's personality, life and works in great detail and provides much background information. She makes good points and provides neat summaries; she has many insights that seem spot on. So what more can there be to say about Jean Rhys, this woman who seems to have been by far her own worst enemy? 

Some of Carole Angier's material that is particularly interesting and relevant is worth highlighting and expanding on, as are some more connections and elements that are familiar from books by or about other writers. 

This article introduces a recurring element in Jean Rhys's life that I think is very significant indeed: whenever she was in deep trouble, something or someone would come to her rescue. Money, somewhere to stay and support and assistance would appear as if by magic and save the day. 

I suspect that there was more to this than just chance, benevolent, compassionate people – and victims and enablers - and sometimes unashamed begging and emotional blackmail on Jean Rhys's part: I think that unseen influences were involved. There are other elements and incidents in Jean Rhys's life that support this idea.

Jean Rhys and the miraculous deliverances

Carole Angier says that whenever Jean Rhys was in dire straits and at the end of her resources, something or someone would always turn up and bail her out:

“Whenever she was at rock bottom, someone would always help.”

“...Jean's life was full of benefactors – her unusual need drew unusual help, as though by magic.”

“Again the last-minute rescue, the magical, fateful possibility of change!”

This is independent confirmation of a phenomenon that I have mentioned in several other articles, Some of these deliverances do indeed seem almost miraculous; perhaps something metaphysical really was at work in these unexpected strokes of Providence. 

While I believe that some people do have the ability to manifest things that they need, there are good – and safe – ways and bad – and dangerous - ways of doing this. I have mentioned various aspects of this elsewhere. 

Some writers with Celtic connections

The starting point for this article was a line in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s novella The Parasite, which has been the subject of many articles.

Austin Gilroy thinks that the witch Helen Penclosa got her hooks deep into him because of his Celtic origin and that his colleague Charles Sadler got off lightly because of his phlegmatic Saxon temperament.

This made me wonder if people of Celtic origin really are more open to unseen influences than those of other ancestries. I have Irish connections on one side and Scottish on the other, so this topic is of great interest to me.

I remembered that some of the writers featured or mentioned in this blog had Cornish, Irish, Scottish or Welsh connections; I decided to do a quick investigation and list any more people on here who are known or appear to be of Celtic descent on one or both sides.

People of interest with Celtic connections
Conan Doyle may have been born in Edinburgh, but he had Irish Catholic parents.

Joan Aiken’s Canadian-born mother was a MacDonald, which suggests Scottish ancestors.

J. M. Barrie was a Scotsman.

Enid Blyton had an Irish grandmother on her father’s side.

Angela Brazil had a Scottish grandfather on her mother’s side.

The Brontës had an Irish father and a Cornish mother.

John Buchan was a Scotsman.

Taylor Caldwell was of Scottish origin on both sides. She was descended from the MacGregor clan on her mother’s side.

James Cameron has remote Scottish connections.

Andrew Carnegie, whose public libraries have inspired many writers, was a Scotsman.

The family of Lewis Carroll (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson) had some Irish connections.

Eoin Colfer is Irish.

Marie Corelli’s real father was almost certainly the Scottish poet Charles Mackay.

Jean Rhys and Antonia White: some similarities

I have been working my way through Carole Angier’s definitive and very detailed biography of the writer Jean Rhys. 

Jean Rhys: Life and Work is over 700 pages long; it includes a literary study of her novels and short stories. I suppose that people who want information about Jean Rhys  and her life will find this book a goldmine and people who like her writings will enjoy reading it, but I found it very depressing.

Jean Rhys got a brief mention in one of the articles about Diana Wynne Jones’s Aunt Maria; the time has now come to say something more about her. Anyone who wants very detailed information about her life and works is best off reading the biography; here I just want to highlight a few elements of particular interest, especially ones that she has in common with other featured writers. 

I found some very familiar features in Carole Angier’s biography; I had already encountered much similar material while investigating other writers. Jean Rhys is in many ways a classic, text-book case. Although she has features in common with several other writers, in my opinion it is Antonia White whom Jean Rhys on the whole most resembles. 

Some of the similarities
Both Jean Rhys and Antonia White were very interested in expensive clothes and beauty treatments - to the detriment of their finances! 

They both spent some time at convent schools.

They both attended the Academy of Dramatic Art in London’s Gower Street and later went on the stage in minor roles for a short time. It was not very successful; they found the touring tiring and the life disillusioning. Acting was a false start for both of them.

They were both self-obsessed. They could never bear to be alone. Both made screaming scenes. Both suffered from poor impulse control. Both led tortured lives. 

Balancing the books: a problem and a solution

I started an article about Terry Pratchett’s witch Tiffany Aching by saying what a great relief it was for me to turn to his books after reading a lot of depressing biographical material.

This introduced one of the problems that reading certain books can cause together with a good solution.

While other articles cover the sometimes devastating effects of putting ideas and experiences into the context of other people’s lives and looking at the total picture, this one is about being badly affected emotionally or even psychically rather than mentally. 

Reading about the lives of writers such as August Strindberg, Stella Benson, Mary Webb, Ouida, Jean Rhys and Antonia White, who have all been featured or at least mentioned on here, can have a very bad effect on impressionable people.

Some people are very good at getting inside books, sharing the writers’ viewpoints and living the lives and stories.  This can be a two-edged sword: when reading certain books, such people are in danger of getting sucked in, overwhelmed, trapped and poisoned by psychic contagion.

Some of the harmful effects come from picking up the writers’ inner states from the material: general negativity and feelings of misery, agony, abandonment, depression, desolation, disconnection, doom and despair can be infectious. 

Counterweights and antidotes
By far the best solution is to read very different books, ones that have on the whole a very positive effect. They can be inspiring, educational and informational or just entertaining. 

Children’s and young adults’ books are often ideal; old friends, comfort reading and new books by a favourite author are all good too.  

Diana Wynne Jones’s witch Aunt Maria: part I

Aunt Maria appears in Diana Wynne Jones’s Black Maria aka Aunt Maria. She operates and does a lot of damage on more than one level: she is both a dreadful, detestable, manipulative old woman and an evil witch. 

Aunt Maria gets under my skin in a way that none of the other witches I have discussed so far does. I can read about her turning people into animals without any problems, but I can hardly bear to read the descriptions of her ‘this world’ behaviour towards the family that she asks to come and stay with her: it comes too close to home; it triggers very painful memories and feelings. 

Her intrusive behaviour over the phone in the first few pages of the book is more than enough to make me want to stop reading, but I persevere because there are lessons to be learned and points and connections to be made.

Aunt Maria’s personality and behaviour
Aunt Maria is hateful; she is insufferable; she is intrusive, annoying, selfish, demanding and controlling. She is a complete expert at using suggestion, disapproval, martyrdom, disappointment, guilt trips, intimidation, emotional blackmail and mind control to manipulate people into doing what she wants. She is cruel and unscrupulous. She is a tyrant in disguise: she subtly forces everyone to dance to her tune.