I just finished reading Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky. It was a book that I couldn't put down. It described some of my worst fears; the panic of fleeing war, the viciousness, fear and greed that surviving fuels in some (or most) people. Which would beg the question of why would you read something like that - because it described the moments between spilled brains and sleep, cats prowling at night, food, flowers, music, ideas, love, decency. Written by a woman who didn't live to see the end of the war, whose children were hidden away to survive, who described the spectrum of humanity humanely, and shredded the hypocrisy of religion, creed, nationality and social class. I cried for them all, as I cry for people that live in all war zones; countries or neighbourhoods or office cubicles. Be kind, love your enemies, pray or wish for the best for them.
This book was punctuated by waiting women who knit, knit in shelters, knit in the afternoon, knit in the evening, returned to their knitting, pursed their lips and knit, knit mufflers, knit, knit, knit. If I could have done a word count on "knit", it would have been mentioned a hundred times. Not exactly the culture of knitting as we know it, chatty, sassy, defiant, grrrl rebellion, hand-crafted. Their knitting, as described, was terse and dark, utilitarian, forced, the bitter zone.
And that's knitting evolution.....