he’d left after his “lesson”?
“Fine, thanks,” she muttered.
“I’m pleased to hear it. Take a seat.”
She would not sit on the beanbag this time. She needed the solidity of a chair beneath her, so she chose a stool by the window. Happily, Gideon was late and got the beanbag.
Alex made coffee for them all, another new experience, and as he handed it round, Carla could see he was amused by their amazement and their attempts not to grimace at his lethal French espresso. As they cradled the hot mugs in their hands, he settled into the tub chair and smiled. “So, are we all ready to be brilliant about John Donne?”
No one was ready to be brilliant about anything, of course, least of all Carla, but most of them wanted to try. This was a new Alex, an Alex who had thawed a few degrees from their initial group tutorial. An Alex who knew them better, perhaps?
Or was it something to do with her?
She dared not speculate. She needed all her mental strength to focus on the tute. Alex selected Gideon for the killer blow this time, asking him to read “Elegy XX: To His Mistress Going to Bed” and silencing his groans by pointing out that Donne’s speaker was male. There were muffled squeaks and barfing sounds from Emma and another of the female students as Gideon made Donne’s sensual love poem sound like a story from the Sunday Sport . After Gideon had snorted and sniggered his way through the poem, Alex let them collect their thoughts for a few moments.
“What’s happening here?” he asked.
“Donne is trying to lure his lover into bed.” Carla broke the silence, surprising herself but not Alex, whose gaze was steady. You would never know that they had shared any kind of intimacy, let alone pleasure and pain so intense it had made her weep.
“And?” he asked.
“Donne—or the narrator—describes disrobing and caressing his mistress. However, there’s a sting in the tail. We find out at the end that it’s the narrator—the man—who is actually naked.”
Although she heard Gideon’s chortle and felt Emma buzz with astonishment at her new boldness, she was determined not to be accused of prudery on this occasion. “We don’t know whether his lover is actually naked herself throughout the poem, or if the narrator is just imagining what it would be like to have his mistress undress in front of him, do we, though?”
Alex steepled his fingers, and she searched for any trace of unease and surprise from him too, but he was as unruffled as a millpond. “Interesting… So do you think this poem is about unattainable love? And how does this poem sit in relation to the Petrarchan elegiac tradition? Do you think it subverts that convention?”
Wow. That was a side shift, thought Carla as Gideon piped up with his thoughts. From undressing in front of your lover to poetic convention. And as for subversion , that was a word Alex was very fond of. Who was avoiding the elephant in the room now?
“Does anyone else have any views on this poem and its wider implications?” he asked.
Was there a chink in the emotional armour, and had she found it? Was he now too embarrassed to discuss sex so publicly with her?
The others took over the rest of the tutorial. There was a lively discussion in which everyone, even Gideon, had something useful to offer. Carla joined in occasionally but spent most of her time watching Alex, seeking out any minute signal, any hint that he wanted to acknowledge what they’d shared. Perhaps, she thought, he’d avoided looking at her more than the others. She’d also—possibly—caught him glancing in her direction when he thought she wasn’t looking. He was so difficult to read. He kept his feelings locked away behind high walls of politeness and restraint. Wanting to know and understand Alex Lemaitre wasn’t like baiting a tiger, but like trying to thaw an iceberg to find the beating heart underneath.
The tutorial ended, and the students filed out. She waited for a sign from
“Fine, thanks,” she muttered.
“I’m pleased to hear it. Take a seat.”
She would not sit on the beanbag this time. She needed the solidity of a chair beneath her, so she chose a stool by the window. Happily, Gideon was late and got the beanbag.
Alex made coffee for them all, another new experience, and as he handed it round, Carla could see he was amused by their amazement and their attempts not to grimace at his lethal French espresso. As they cradled the hot mugs in their hands, he settled into the tub chair and smiled. “So, are we all ready to be brilliant about John Donne?”
No one was ready to be brilliant about anything, of course, least of all Carla, but most of them wanted to try. This was a new Alex, an Alex who had thawed a few degrees from their initial group tutorial. An Alex who knew them better, perhaps?
Or was it something to do with her?
She dared not speculate. She needed all her mental strength to focus on the tute. Alex selected Gideon for the killer blow this time, asking him to read “Elegy XX: To His Mistress Going to Bed” and silencing his groans by pointing out that Donne’s speaker was male. There were muffled squeaks and barfing sounds from Emma and another of the female students as Gideon made Donne’s sensual love poem sound like a story from the Sunday Sport . After Gideon had snorted and sniggered his way through the poem, Alex let them collect their thoughts for a few moments.
“What’s happening here?” he asked.
“Donne is trying to lure his lover into bed.” Carla broke the silence, surprising herself but not Alex, whose gaze was steady. You would never know that they had shared any kind of intimacy, let alone pleasure and pain so intense it had made her weep.
“And?” he asked.
“Donne—or the narrator—describes disrobing and caressing his mistress. However, there’s a sting in the tail. We find out at the end that it’s the narrator—the man—who is actually naked.”
Although she heard Gideon’s chortle and felt Emma buzz with astonishment at her new boldness, she was determined not to be accused of prudery on this occasion. “We don’t know whether his lover is actually naked herself throughout the poem, or if the narrator is just imagining what it would be like to have his mistress undress in front of him, do we, though?”
Alex steepled his fingers, and she searched for any trace of unease and surprise from him too, but he was as unruffled as a millpond. “Interesting… So do you think this poem is about unattainable love? And how does this poem sit in relation to the Petrarchan elegiac tradition? Do you think it subverts that convention?”
Wow. That was a side shift, thought Carla as Gideon piped up with his thoughts. From undressing in front of your lover to poetic convention. And as for subversion , that was a word Alex was very fond of. Who was avoiding the elephant in the room now?
“Does anyone else have any views on this poem and its wider implications?” he asked.
Was there a chink in the emotional armour, and had she found it? Was he now too embarrassed to discuss sex so publicly with her?
The others took over the rest of the tutorial. There was a lively discussion in which everyone, even Gideon, had something useful to offer. Carla joined in occasionally but spent most of her time watching Alex, seeking out any minute signal, any hint that he wanted to acknowledge what they’d shared. Perhaps, she thought, he’d avoided looking at her more than the others. She’d also—possibly—caught him glancing in her direction when he thought she wasn’t looking. He was so difficult to read. He kept his feelings locked away behind high walls of politeness and restraint. Wanting to know and understand Alex Lemaitre wasn’t like baiting a tiger, but like trying to thaw an iceberg to find the beating heart underneath.
The tutorial ended, and the students filed out. She waited for a sign from
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