I get too excited when my art worlds collide.
Since The Knife’s new album came out a few months ago, I’ve been absentmindedly turning the phrase “I’m telling you stories — trust me” over and over and over in my mind, like a cough drop of sorts. Savoring its succinct sweetness and familiarity. And finally, fucking finally, it dawned on me the other day why that phrase instantly took hold of me.
Oh, you know, only because my favorite freaking author made the phrase central to The Passion, one of the most beautifully written stories I have ever read. I don’t know why it took me so long to make the connection; I’ve read The Passion at least a couple of times and each time I am more enchanted.
I feel like if I get to have a mantra, I want this to be it.
This would be a great mantra. I’m not sure where she placed the emphasis (I clicked over to the Goodreads quotation, but I still can’t tell if she’s being literal. Sadly, I have not read the book), but it reminded me instantly of a phrase one of my Spanish profs taught me:
“¡No me diga cuentas!”
The transliteration is “Don’t tell me accounts!” but it really means “Don’t tell me stories (lies)!”
More innocent than “lies” (and more playful), I read “stories” here in that idiomatic sense, and that makes the “trust me” bit even more delicious. I’m not sure if that’s how Winterson presents it in context — or if that’s how you read it — but I think the ambiguity only improves its mantra worthiness.
Why don’t we get asked for our personal mantras more often? Or ever? We could just scratch off that “Gender” line on all standard forms and replace it with “Mantra.” I have a mantra I took from a T. S. Eliot poem, and I never get to use it! Aside from email signatures, I think my only other mantra option is the dreaded tattoo.
Thanks for sharing the Winterson quotation, and thanks for bringing the mantra issue into question.