Travels with My Aunt, by Graham Greene, a review by Steven Perkins, English 131, The Modern Novel
Travels with My Aunt (1969) by English author Graham Greene is about a dahlia-tending retired bank manager named Henry Pulling whose eccentric Aunt Augusta leads him from his staid ways into a world of adventure, criminality and sexuality.
Aunt and nephew board the Orient Express bound for Istanbul -- Greene's second trip on that line, Stambul Train (1932), two years predating Agatha Christie's best-seller Murder on the Orient Express (1934) -- and
I'm sorry, Prof. Rennick, but I can't do this, write a paper about an old virgin guy with his even-older aunt.
I like your class and everything, but in traveling with my own aunt, something happened that shouldn't have. That's where my head is regarding travels with an aunt.
Sorry. Prof. Rennick. Maybe I should drop the class.
Steven Perkins
***
Steven:
By no means drop. You're a promising student. While I don't normally tailor individual assignments, I'll make an exception. Write about what happened. I'm looking forward to your writing.
Holly Rennick, Asst. Prof., English
****
Prof. Rennick,
Here's as much as I've written. Sorry it isn't very good
Steven
Travels with my Aunt, by Steven Perkins
Aunt Hannah, my favorite aunt, taught history in Vermont, but to get away from old New England, she worked summers as an interpretative ranger at Dinosaur National Monument in Utah, where things are actually much older than New England. She'd stop at our place in Colorado, coming and going.
The thing about her was that she liked to joke around. We'd be walking around and she'd just grab my arm like we were going into the Academy Awards, and on we’d go. If we were at some family thing where you were supposed to kiss your aunt, she'd sometimes sip her tongue into my mouth for a second. Nobody would know except maybe my mom, but being sisters, they were always trying to get one up on the other. If we were wrestling around, she'd not care what I‘d try to pull off, but she'd maybe goose me to get even.
It was the summer after I graduated that she offered to haul me to college. Wouldn't charge me gas, as she'd have to buy it anyway. I’d help with the driving. When we got tired, we could just pull into a rest stop and catch a few winks. It's not how my folks would have done it, but then again. Aunt Hannah wasn't into Super 8s where Dad gets points.
So off we went, her ranger outfits and my college things in the back.
Made it to Illinois the first day, good enough mileage that my aunt thought we deserved better than a truck stop where a serial killer might be lurking. Let’s find an older motel off the freeway. Been there since the fifties, some of them.
And so there we were at the Tom Tom Motor Inn, though the Indian tie seemed to be that of immigration. The whole family runs a motel and then the kids study medicine or computer science. Whatever my aunt said to the girl behind the desk -- she was reading what looked to be a text on neuro-something -- the girl looked my way, smiled, and produced a different key.
I was surprised that our room had just one bed, but my aunt pointed out that this made room for the Magic Fingers chair, which we discovered worked for two squeezed together.
My offer to sleep on the floor she thought ridiculous -- we were related, after all -- and should she roll onto my side, give her an elbow.
Like I'd want her to wake up? If she did, though, being Aunt Hannah, she'd probably tell me to not be such a rascal and go right back to sleep and I could get back to feeling her up. Nephews can get away with it.
I went into the bathroom to put on my pajamas, and when I came out, she was already in hers, ones that maybe rangers go for, having cartoon bear cubs on them. I hoped her grin meant that she thought I appreciated the critters.
When I said what a fun day we'd had, "You're so sweet, Steven. Let's hit the sack."
"OK, Ranger."
“And our goodnight kiss?" pecking me one on my cheek, a follow-up on my mouth. "The college way."
A minute or two later, she sat up and pulled off her top, explaining, "A cute boy like you will probably see lots of these in college."
That's as far as I got, Prof. Rennick. Maybe I should write about something else.
Steven Perkins
***
Steven:
Great start. Your story lingered after I hit the sack, what good writing can do -- make the reader feel like she's part of the story.
What you have at this point is a tale of embarkation that now requires an arrival, something perhaps I can help you with, as my job is to encourage budding authors.
Two things you might be interested to know about Greene::
1) Greene's parents were themselves first cousins.
2) Greene's Journey Without Maps (1936) chronicles a sojourn with his cousin Barbara, but how they spent their unchronicled time remains a subject of speculation.
I mention these to point out that you may have something in common with Greene regarding subject matter. It's smart to pattern yourself in such footsteps.
I suggest we meet off-campus to pursue your piece. As my days are booked, an evening would be best, and as reminiscences benefit by recreating the setting, I suggest the Pilgrims Motel in Worcester. You'll like their scale model of the Mayflower. The couples took turns sleeping in the Mate's cabin, something I might make use of if I write a Pilgrim novel.
We can work late and drive back in the morning.
Please don't mention our collaboration to others, however, as I prefer students to respect my office hours. Let me know where to pick you up, but let's say not in front of your dorm.
Holly Rennick, Asst. Prof., English
***
"So here we are, Steven. We want to replicate your story's setting as best we can. This place look anything like the Tom Tom?"
"It has one bed and a wooden dresser."
"They used to have a Magic Fingers, but it broke."
"The lady at the desk seemed to know you."
"Naah."
"She called you, 'Professor."
"My demeanor, probably. So your aunt comes out of the bathroom. I'll play her role. Look the other way while I get my bra off. There we go. Do I look like her, more or less, other than I'm not in PJs?"
"She's taller and ..."
"I mean my front. Writers need to be observant. Now let's get in the bed. Good. Now a goodnight kiss. Lovely. You were going to feel her up on the sly, I believe. Where’d you learn?"
"My mom when we're watching old movies on the TV. When she pretends to doze off. she lets me do it under the afghan."
"Where's your dad?"
"He's more of 'Early to bed, early to rise' type."
"She got her bra on?"
"Not if she's in her nightie, but I thought I was writing about Aunt Hannah."
"They're sisters. Genetically about the same. Synonymic characters. What you're doing with one, you're doing with the other."
"What's that word?"
"Synonymic. Your reader -- that's me -- identifies with them and becomes another character in the greater story. Triune. So we’re watching Gladiator and I just fell asleep. Go ahead."
"So you’re Mom?”
“Same difference. So back to the Tom Tom. Then you had sex with your aunt, I take it."
“Not exactly.”
"You slept with the Indian girl at the front desk?"
"No way!"
"Good, because I'd dock your grade for the mysterious female cliche. An aunt makes a better story."
"I guess."
"So what color of panties did she have on?"
"Black."
"Your mom have that color?"
"She has lots of colors."
"Be right back. Got that kind in my overnight. Want me to change in the bathroom?"
"You probably should."
"Good idea. Develop suspense. Be right back."
“So let’s get like you and your aunt started out to recreate your story better. Excellent. You talked about the day's drive for starts, right?"
"Yeah, about the cornfields."
"And then she said her shoulders were tired and would you give them a little massage?"
"How'd you know that?"
"It's usually the shoulders, where you have him start. She was sitting or lying down?"
: "She was in my lap"
"Like this? Go ahead and show me how you did it."
"Maybe about like this."
"After a while, though, you went further around, I'm guessing."
"Maybe."
"Her breasts were like your mom's?"
"Kind of."
"Like I was saying, a synonymic character. My nipples about like theirs?"
"Pretty much."
"Then she did something special to you, correct?”
"I tried not to actually say it."
"Good. Let the reader figure it out. Do it much, yourself?"
"Do what?"
"Masturbate."
"It's not what my story’s about."
"How about a side assignment for both of us? Extra credit. We'll write about it and critique what each other comes up with, author to author."
"How many words?"
"The more the better."
"So you're going to, uhh, do what Aunt Hannah did?"
"Like to, but then we couldn't finish the story. Have her say that she shouldn't go all the way, what aunts always say.
"But that didn't happen."
"Fact as fiction, fiction as fact. I don't teach journalism. You think that Indian girl at the Tom Tom didn’t guess that’s why you got the room? Sandra up at the desk, same thing. Fact to them. You need to take off your pants."
"Prof Rennick, I don't think..."
"There we go. Put mine there by my glasses. Seen many women naked?"
"Maybe Mom through the shower door when Dad’s doing National Guard. Communications. She says not to come into the bathroom until it gets steamy."
"I love anticipation. But back to your Aunt Hannah. That's who I am, your aunt. Get on top of me. I mean her. That’s right. More up on your elbows."
