When Lady Caroline Blackwood walked through the graveyard that housed her ancestors, she felt tortured by fate. Death came for members of the Guinness family too frequently and too early. The sports cars of relatives had rammed into walls or swerved into oncoming traffic; an aunt had jumped off an aqueduct in Italy. Then there were the overdoses, the sudden illnesses, even an assassination. Blame was placed on a family curse: Perhaps the maintenance of such wealth and power—from all the beer barons, bankers, and politicians the family had produced—was only possible through the occasional blood sacrifice? Though Blackwood would write about royal intrigue, dusty estates, and decrepit countesses terrorizing anyone nearby, the curse she was most interested in was not exclusive to the privileged. It was one we all carry, to which no person is immune: having a mother.
Read Full Article »
