There’s nothing like a bit of a holiday to refresh the mind and whip the body into (at least a bit better) shape.
My annual trip back to the United States was wonderful as always, visiting with friends and family in California and Texas. But since it also included some marketing work for Moved to Murder, it wasn’t all fun and games. Plus, my husband was at home taking care of his mother, so we couldn’t share the good times.
A month later, however, we both managed to get away to a place I’ve longed to visit: Portmeirion, Wales. It was the setting from one of Nicola Upson’s Josephine Tey mysteries, and a faux Italianate village set in the south of Wales sounded so delicious. I was further intrigued when, out of the blue, a California uncle asked if I’d ever been there, reminding me it was the setting for The Village in the 60s television series The Prisoner.
It was, in fact, utterly delightful, right down to the television channel in our suite that played whatever episodes of The Prisoner we wanted. Watching the series again, I was reminded of what it felt like twenty years ago to be suddenly living in a country with a culture different from my own. I too, often felt like I had to repress my individuality to fit in.
So much art is about people struggling to adapt to new situations, deciding how much of themselves they are willing to give up to earn a place in society. It is one of the great themes of literature, from Alice in Wonderland to A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. It’s also one of the main themes in Moved to Murder (but without white rabbits or time travel), based very much on my own experiences.
I sometimes wonder if I’ve given up too much. Or not enough. Or if I’ll ever truly think of England as home no matter what I do. I do know that I feel privileged to be able to put those feelings into my writing to share with others, as a kind of research and catharsis.
Now, for Patrick McGoohan The Village was a trap, something he had to constantly try to escape to save his sanity. Had we been forced to stay there indefinitely, I might have felt the same. But for five days, the bright colors and fresh air of Portmeirion was just what I needed as a break from the everyday struggle to figure out where I fit in the world.