{"product_id":"why-not-say-what-happened-isbn-9780307387400","title":"Why Not Say What Happened?","description":"\u003cb\u003eFrom Ivana Lowell, a member of the Guinness family and Executive Producer of 'House of Guinness' on Netflix, comes \"a frank and, at times, comic account of growing up amid extreme privilege and eccentric personalities” (\u003ci\u003eVanity Fair\u003c\/i\u003e)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBorn into one of the most celebrated Anglo-Irish families, the Guinnesses, Ivana Lowell grew up at the whim of two literary heavyweights—her mother, writer Lady Caroline Blackwood, and stepfather, poet Robert Lowell. Now, with an incisive eye and a wicked sense of humor, she shares the stories we’ve always wanted to hear. She tells of following the famous authors from one crumbling, drafty country house to another, and of summers spent with madcap relatives such as her maternal grandmother, the Marchioness of Dufferin and Ava, and her “old friend,” the Queen Mother. But Ivana also has darker stories to tell: about her childhood accident, about her own stints in rehab, and, finally, about discovering the secret Lady Caroline had successfully kept from Ivana her entire life.\u003cp\u003e“A frank and, at times, comic account of growing up amid extreme privilege and eccentric personalities.” \u003ci\u003e—Vanity Fair \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“A riveting history of a family that folds in on itself, consuming generation after generation. . . . Lowell’s compact, finely tuned paragraphs render the saga with brave urgency and courage.”\u003ci\u003e —Elle \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Lowell movingly shows how a child’s love can transcend a parent’s flaws. Her empathy with her mother may be her greatest gift.” \u003ci\u003e—The New York Times Book Review \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“For a woman whose legacy carries an enormous fortune, a family tree cluttered with renown, and unparalleled eccentricity, Ivana Lowell is shockingly all right. . . . An impeccable memoir.” \u003ci\u003e—The Daily Beast \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Ivana Lowell’s memoir is a heart-breaking account of a gifted woman, her brilliant but destructive parents, and a glamorous, aristocratic life that was laced with arsenic. That she survived and now shines as literary force in her own right is apparent from the very first page. \u003ci\u003eWhy Not Say What Happened?\u003c\/i\u003e is a tour de force.” —Amanda Foreman, author of \u003ci\u003eGeorgiana: Duchess of Devonshire\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Compelling. . . . Careless hardly covers the reckless disregard with which these people treated those they supposedly loved.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Boston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Lowell takes her spot in the pantheon of modern-day heiresses with this memoir about her unbelievable life.” —\u003ci\u003eMore \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Will no doubt raise eyebrows. Lowell spares few details in recounting her dysfunctional childhood, which was spent in grand houses and fancy apartments, where the family lived more like hillbillies than titled Brits.” —\u003ci\u003eW \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Lowell’s true achievement may lie in the unassuming way she communicates the resilience of a woman whose trials—she was sexually abused at six by her nanny’s husband, was severely burned in a childhood kitchen accident and has struggled for decades to conquer alcoholism—might have done in most people.”  —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“An exhilarating roller-coaster ride of a book, full of the sort of wonderfully terrible secrets writers seldom have the guts to tell, let alone with such an assured and beguiling candor—but then of course, Ivana’s Irish and a born writer .”  —John Richardson, author of\u003ci\u003e A Life of Picasso\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Searing.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Observer \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Lowell’s] recollections of sexual abuse, a disfiguring childhood accident, rampant neglect, and alcoholism—as well as her lifelong quest to discover her true paternity—could have made for grim reading, but Lowell's writing remains conversational and refreshingly free of self-pity.” —\u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“At its heart, \u003ci\u003eWhy Not Say What Happened?, \u003c\/i\u003ewhose title comes from one of Robert Lowell's final, bleakest poems, is a portrait of a family in freefall, a mother and her four children floating through a dizzying succession of grand but rotting houses while enduring absent fathers, sexual abuse, mental breakdown, severe injury, alcoholism and the deaths of loved ones. The only thing fending off complete devastation is the author's gleefully black sense of humor.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Telegraph\u003c\/i\u003e (London) \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“With walk-on parts from everyone from the Queen Mother and artist Lucian Freud to film mogul Harvey Weinstein, this book is packed with color. A brilliant memoir.” —\u003ci\u003eVoyager \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Ivana] tells her story with verve and wit, and I loved every minute of it.” —Ann LaFarge, \u003ci\u003eHudson Valley News\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Shocking and hilarious, this elegantly lucid memoir by Ivana Lowell is that lethal mix of British aristocracy, giant fortunes, huge freezing houses, beautiful women jagged with sophistication, pedophilia, mysterious paternity, cruelty and yes, cocktails. We are reminded of the plays of Oscar Wilde and novels from Ronald Firbank to Evelyn Waugh as we are introduced to a lively and unlikely mix that includes the Queen Mother and Harvey and Bob Weinstein. . . . Lowell is impressive and touching in sparing us none of this tragicomedy, least of all herself.” —Mike Nichols\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003eIvana Lowell grew up in London, Boston, and New York. She now lives in Sag Harbor with her daughter.\u003cb\u003eChapter 1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI have recently started going to a new shrink. She is  the latest on a list of many. She is British, straightforward, and  cozily plump. The sort of woman you want to sit down with, have a nice  cup of tea and a bit of a chat. \"You have been so bumped and knocked  around,\" she told me after hearing just a little of my history, \"that  it's a wonder you survived at all.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI certainly don't feel like a  \"wonder.\" In fact, I feel that I have fucked up my life. I have spent  so long trying to avoid feeling the pain and anxiety that lie so close  to the surface of my skin. Alcohol, antidepressants, and stints in  rehabs have done little to alleviate the feelings of desperation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe  worst thought I have is that it is too late, that perhaps I am too  damaged ever to be fixed. I have spent so much of my life floundering.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow  that I am a mother, however, I have grown up a bit and become brave  enough to look back and try to make some sense of the past.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDysfunctional  does not even begin to describe my family and upbringing. Anyway, that  is far too easy a word to use-who doesn't come from some kind of  dysfunction? But what part of my history has so ill-equipped me to  function in adulthood?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You do know who your real father was.  Don't you?\" Maybe I had been given a clue to solve a puzzle that I never  knew even existed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eon paper it all looks so perfect, so  glamorous, so privileged, and interesting. I come from a fabled  background. My mother was born into a family that was wealthy,  aristocratic, and good-looking. My grandmother was one of three sisters  whom the society pages dubbed \"the glorious Guinness girls.\" All three  were beautiful, charming, and, thanks to the popularity of the black  stout beer whose name they bore, very rich.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey were also  spoiled, selfish, and uneducated. They were born during an era when it  was deemed unnecessary for a young lady to be equipped with anything  other than nice manners and good child-bearing hips. Education was  considered unimportant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy great-grandfather the Honorable Arthur  Edward Guinness was by all accounts an unattractive character. I have  heard many stories that illustrate his extravagant and boorish behavior.  My mother's favorite was when \"Granddaddy\" purchased his own private  airplane. He knew very little about flying but on a whim one day decided  to take the plane out for a little spin. Unfortunately, when he jumped  into the cockpit he failed to notice that the plane's mechanic was still  working on top of one of the wings. The mechanic was killed immediately  after the plane took off, but my great-grandfather ignored this little  inconvenience and continued his flight undaunted. Because of his great  wealth some of these more despicable acts were labeled as merely  eccentric, and as far as I know he never suffered any repercussions or  consequences.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt that time he also owned one of the largest  yachts ever built. He decided that his girls should see the world, and  so he embarked with my grandmother and my two great-aunts on a sailing  trip that lasted most of their formative years. Their lives up to that  point had been untouched by reality, and the long\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003esea voyage only removed them further from any semblance of normality.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs  a young girl my grandmother was waited on hand and foot, a practice  that she made sure continued until her death at ninety-four. If she  needed to go to the lavatory, a maid would warm up the toilet seat  before \"Miss Maureen\" was allowed to sit down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen the girls  came out as debutantes, they were in possession of cash and good looks,  but they needed class to be accepted at the highest level of English  society. My grandmother found it in the form of the Marquess of Dufferin  and Ava. Basil Dufferin was young, handsome, and eligible. His  grandfather the first marquess had been viceroy in India and governor  general of Canada. He had arguably been Britain's most accomplished  diplomat of the nineteenth century. Basil himself had done brilliantly  at Oxford and was generally expected to go on to do great things.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe  huge society marriage between the dashing young marquess and the  vivacious Guinness heiress at Saint Margaret's Cathedral in London was  seemingly made in Debrett's heaven.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ealong with his title, my  grandfather had inherited a large, gray stone Georgian house and estate  in the north of Ireland. On a man-made shamrock-shaped lake and  surrounded by acres and acres of parkland, Clandeboye House was the  childhood home of my mother and her younger sister and brother.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter  the three children were born, their glamorous parents continued their  exhaustive socializing and entertaining. Both were overly fond of drink  (something that is a recurring theme in my family), and they were at the  epicenter of the decadent, hedonistic social life of London in the  1930s.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy grandparents and their set cavorted with the fastest,  grandest, and most brilliant people that England had to offer,  statesmen, royalty, literary figures, and a scattering of talented  snobs. Cecil Beaton, Evelyn Waugh, Frederick Ashton, and Nöel Coward  were part of their crowd. When Cecil Beaton met my grandmother Maureen  and her sisters, Oonagh and Eileen, in the 1920s, he records, \"It was  disgustingly smart and so dreadfully like the party in a Noël Coward  play.\" In the Noël Coward song \"I Went to a Marvelous Party,\" there is a  bit about Maureen:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI went to a marvelous party\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe played the most wonderful game.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaureen disappeared\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd came back in a beard\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd we all had to guess at her name!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhile  my grandparents were enjoying the high life in London, my mother, my  aunt, and my uncle were left in the austere atmosphere of Northern  Ireland. They were looked after by governesses and nannies. My mother  would never forgive her mother for her lack of parental love, the  loneliness she felt as a child, and the brutal disregard with which she  and her siblings were treated. She never forgave my grandmother for this  neglect, and in many ways she spent the rest of her life trying to  escape from the cruel and empty world of her aristocratic childhood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen  England declared war on Germany, everyone's circumstances changed  dramatically. The children were considered to be safer in Ireland, away  from the blitzing of England, rather than at the Knightsbridge house in  Hans Crescent. This only increased my mother's feeling of isolation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEven  my grandmother did her bit to help out the war effort, joining the Red  Cross and consoling wounded young soldiers. She would remind us of this  in self-sacrificing tones for years to come. My grandfather Basil, who  had been the secretary of state for war in 1935, persuaded the war  office to dispatch him to Burma on an operation aimed at demoralizing  the Japanese troops who were steadily advancing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy mother said  that he had volunteered partly to prove that he was more than just a  privileged aristocrat. But she suspected his real reason was to escape  from my grandmother. She told me that her father had begun to find  Maureen's obsession with royalty and her relentless party giving and  socializing tedious. Her father, she said, was a \"funny, clever and  well-educated man,\" and Maureen was-\"Well, she was the opposite of that,  wasn't she?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was a dangerous and brave mission for him to  undertake and on March 25, 1945, Lord Dufferin was killed in action. He  was thirty-five. One of the ironies of his death was that it took place  near the ancient capital of Ava, his namesake, and in the country that  his grandfather had annexed to the British throne.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis death left  Maureen a widow with two young daughters and a son. My uncle Sheridan,  aged three years old, was now the Fifth Marquess of Dufferin and Ava and  the heir to the Clandeboye estate.","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301059285221,"sku":"NP9780307387400","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780307387400.jpg?v=1767744275","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/why-not-say-what-happened-isbn-9780307387400","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}