Showing posts with label writer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writer. Show all posts

Monday, January 5, 2026

THE KAREN BLIXEN MUSEUM NEAR COPENHAGEN, DENMARK – A WRITER’S HOME Guest Post by Caroline Hatton

At the Blixen Museum near Copenhagen, Denmark.

My friend Caroline Hatton, a children’s writer and frequent contributor to this blog, took the photos in this post in June 2025.

When the movie Out of Africa came out in 1985, I saw it in a big-screen theater. As an epic love story between a Danish woman who had a farm in Africa and a British big-game hunter, it won Oscars for Best Picture, Best Cinematography, Best Original Score, and four more.

Forty years later, my husband and I planned to visit Denmark. By then I had learned that the book, Out of Africa, on which the movie is loosely based, is a memoir by Isak Dinesen, the pen name of Karen Blixen (1885-1962), an icon in the culture of Denmark. (Isak means “he who laughs” and Dinesen was Blixen’s maiden name.)

 

Blixen Museum, Copenhagen, Denmark (D), Norway (N), Sweden (S)*.

An online search for her name found the Karen Blixen Museumhttps://blixen.dk/en/ at Rungstedlund, her farm near Copenhagen. The museum is a park-like estate. In the photo at the top of this post, the farmhouse (on the left) is her former home. The former barn (on the right) is the Cultural Events Centre with meeting room, café, and gift shop. Imagine attending a writer’s conference there! The property contains a pond, bridge, orchard, former cow and horse pasture, and woods with trees centuries old. Part of the property is the Bird Sanctuary she created as a haven for migratory species.

Our self-guided visit began through ground-floor rooms full of info (in Danish and English) about Blixen’s life, photos, and objects such as her Corona typewriter and original editions of her most famous works. This large farm is where she was born in 1885 and grew up privileged, enjoying nature and animals. She loved stories, listening to them and telling her own. By age 8, she wrote her first fiction piece. By age 11, she wrote and performed plays. 

She wanted to achieve something remarkable, not just marry a rich man. Her family was supportive of her quest as a writer. Her first publication was a tale (submitted by her aunt) in a literary magazine the year Blixen turned 22. But she published only two more tales, so she endured years of despair because she didn’t know what to do with her life.

At age 28, she married a rich man after all and started managing a coffee farm owned by family members, in British East Africa, a colony which included today’s Kenya. While reading the museum posters, I liked comparing facts in her real life with fiction in the movie and finding matches (married the day after she arrived in Africa… diagnosed with syphilis…). I gazed at the black-and-white photo of Denys Finch Hatton, the love of her life. “He was the most intelligent man she had ever met, and he was a good listener when she read aloud to him from the stories she wrote.”

After 17 years, the farm, which had never made any money because the area was too cold to grow coffee, was shut down. This left Blixen to despair again, about what she was going to do with her life. She started writing a book, hoping to finish it after going home to Denmark. Finch Hatton did die in a plane crash not long before she left Africa. 

Green room.

She came home emotionally, physically, and financially devastated. Finch Hatton’s favorite chair (the second chair from the right in the above photo), in which he sat by the fireplace at her farm in Africa and listened to her stories, went in the Green Room on the ground floor, not far from her winter writing desk (on the left in the photo). This room stayed warm in cold weather.

She finished writing her book in English. U.S. publishers rejected it. London publishers rejected it. Finally an American author, who was a friend of Blixen’s aunt, gave the manuscript to her own publisher. He published Blixen’s first book, Seven Gothic Tales, in 1934 when she was 49. It was a hit in the U.S. and the U.K., but the Danish version she produced got mixed reviews in Denmark.

African collection.

Our visit led us past a room full of Blixen’s cherished African mementos. This was where she wrote in the summer. While in Africa, she had proposed a travelogue—unsuccessfully. Yet she kept working on it. Finally, in 1936 it was published as a memoir, Seventeen Years in Africa, in a newspaper Sunday supplement. Months later, a new chapter moved her London publisher to accept the book: Out of Africa got rave reviews in Denmark, England, and the U.S. in 1937, the year she turned 52.

Dining room.

We saw the dining room as it was when Blixen staged enchanting dinner parties—for no more than seven carefully selected guests. Her conversations with great minds from all fields of thought inspired her. She viewed gastronomy as an art form. “Babette’s Feast,” the tale she wrote about a French master chef who wowed her guests, was published in 1952 and made into a 1987 Danish movie which won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film.

Kitchen.

Kitchen.

In the kitchen, Blixen’s housekeeper prepared the famous dinners. In the adjacent room, Blixen arranged flowers from her cutting garden for every room in her house. Menus and bouquets provided extra outlets for her creativity.

Library.

Library.

Blixen loved to read broadly across many genres. In her library, we saw some of the books that inspired her.

Bedroom.

Upstairs, we walked through Blixen’s bedroom, as it was when she lived there and died in her bed in 1962. All the rooms look as they did then. 

Looking out the bedroom window.

Outside the bedroom window, beyond the lawn and across a public road, is the sea corridor that separates Denmark from Sweden. Today, the view is filled by a marina, which didn’t exist in Blixen’s lifetime.

Porch.

When we were done visiting the house, we strolled through the manicured grounds.

Grave.

In a far corner of the park, Blixen’s grave, marked unobtrusively by a flat stone under a magnificent beech tree in her Bird Sanctuary, was honored by a single red rose. She chose the site and pre-arranged her funeral consecration ceremony. She also founded the non-profit that still owns the estate. What an uncommon mind and drive she had!

* Credit for the globe image: Rob984 - Derived from Germany on the globe (Germany centered).svg, CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

 

Read CarolineArnold’s post about Copenhagen.

Monday, May 4, 2020

RAY BRADBURY, Remembering the Place Where He Once Lived and Wrote

Sign on the gate of the property in West Los Angeles where Ray Bradbury once lived.
“Living at risk is jumping off a cliff and building your wings on the way down.” Ray Bradbury

In this time of the corona virus, almost all travel is suspended. For myself, all upcoming trips have been cancelled. Among the pleasures of travel is the surprise of a new place, a different experience, a new way to view the world. Now, as I shelter in place, my only travel is a daily walk about my neighborhood to get some exercise. As I move about on foot, I am suddenly seeing my neighborhood with new eyes.
Landscaping in front of the property.
Until his death in 2012, Ray Bradbury, the author of The Martian Chronicles, Farenheit 451 and so much more, was my neighbor. I never saw him, but I often passed his modest yellow house, just a few short blocks from mine, as I drove home from the supermarket. I remember loving his books when I read them in high school and college. In 2012, when I read in the paper that he had died at the age of 91, I wondered what would happen to the house that had been his home for more than fifty years. Then one day, as I drove by, I saw bulldozers knocking it down. Over the next year, in its place, a striking modern architectural edifice rose up and filled the property. Ray Bradbury fans were appalled, but it was too late. (For a time line of the house’s history, click HERE.)

View of the house from the front gate
On a recent daily walk, I passed the property and saw it up close for the first time. Much of the new house is hidden behind dense shrubbery. At the entrance is an elaborate iron gate whose design is made of intersecting letters. As we passed, I noticed a small sign. It reads:

Ray Bradbury, American author and screen-writer, wrote many of his greatest works in the home that once stood on this site. To pay homage to his life and spirit, the design of this gate incorporates his words.

“Living at risk is jumping off a cliff and building your wings on the way down.”
"I never ask anyone else's opinion. They don't count."  
"Don't think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity."
“Stuff you eyes with wonder,” he said, “live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds.”
"Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said." 

Then, as I looked closely, I could see the words embedded in the gate design. While individual words and letters are discernible, it is a bit hard to distinguish the whole quotes among the surrounding metal. Even so, the fact that they are there to connect us with Ray Bradbury and his work means he is still part of our neighborhood.
The front gate and sign.
After finding the sign, I wanted to read Ray Bradbury’s books again. When I went to the Los Angeles Public Library website I discovered that many of his books are available to borrow as digital copies. I checked out Dandelion Wine (1957), his semi-autobiographical book about his growing up years in Waukegan, Illinois (renamed Green Town in the book) and downloaded it to my computer. As I have been reading the stories–about making dandelion wine, the pleasure of fresh cut grass in the summer, his elderly neighbors and their “Green Machine”, and more–they bring back memories of childhood visits to my grandparents' house in Kenosha, Wisconsin, a similar midwestern town just up the road from Waukegan. While the time period of Bradbury’s stories about Green Town is nearly a century ago, the essential human qualities of the characters are universal.
A side gate to the property is also embedded with Ray Bradbury's words. Behind it is a glimpse into the densely planted garden surrounding the house.
I never would have discovered the sign on the gate if it hadn't been for the need to get out of the house in our self-isolation in response to the corona virus. My perspective has changed as I take my daily walks. I see things up close. I have more time to linger and take a second look. I hear the birds sing and the noisy flocks of parrots foraging in the eucalyptus trees overhead. I see my neighbors’ houses and the diverse ways that they have landscaped their front yards. And I have rediscovered Ray Bradbury, one of America’s greatest writers.
Real Estate photo of Ray Bradbury's house at 10265 Cheviot Drive in Los Angeles, before it was knocked down.