The lights, the music, the heady smell of sawdust and horses turned my young grandmother’s head in 1915. She almost ran away with the circus, and although she didn’t she never forgot the experience.
I’ve written about my Swedish grandmother’s crush on equestrienne Othelia Orlando and the tragedy, a generation earlier, of the young acrobat Elvira Madigan. Two very different stories of circus loves in Sweden more than a century ago. You can read the piece here: Kitchen Table Quarterly, 3.
Vicky Grut 