How is everyone? Has January been a good month for you, or are you glad it's almost over? Have you managed to read much this year? Do you like dogs? Does the buying of books fill you with any special pleasure? Have you taken a moment to wonder why I've not written anything so far that does not end with a question mark?
Are you one of those people who can go for a walk without an apparent destination? Does having time to read and drink coffee matter to you? What is your favourite manifestation of punctuation? How many mugs do you own? Have you heard of Padgett Powell? What are your favourite kind of flowers? Do you find split ends heartbreaking? Do you write a diary? Do you enjoy reading those that have been published? Are all these questions getting you down? What is your favourite piece of classical music? Do you think Bette Davis deserved a slap?
Do you wish I'd get to the point? Do you enjoy sunrise or sunset more? Do you think a book composed entirely of questions can be termed a novel? Do you read much fanfiction? Does a crisp white shirt do it for you? Can you credit the fact that I still buy books, even though I have enough unread to last me for over eight years? Is a pearl necklace somehow calming? Have I confused you? Would you ever start a war, if you could? Do you like the concept of royalty? Do you think Lawrence Olivier or Kenneth Brannah was better at Shakespeare? Can you conceive of a world without dogs? Should I stop now, or carry on indefinitely? Should you read 'The Interrogative Mood'? Do you need me to tell you yes or no?
Do you mind if I put a stop to this now and read something with no questions whatsoever? Will you seek out the book?
Saturday, 22 January 2011
Sunday, 2 January 2011
New Year's Reformations
I should start this post by apologising for my extended absence. 2010 was an interesting year, but not one I could really write about. The last few months have pretty much been consumed by work - in part a way of ignoring other things that were going on about me. From September I barely had tme to read, and what I did manage seemed hardly worth talking about. I've never been one for the newest reads, and so I seemed to lose my reason for blogging in the face of so many other voices.
In view of tidying things up, here's a list of what I read in 2010
I started the new year in a very familiar way - by reading. However, I chose a non-fiction book. You may be able to tell from the list above that 2010 was dominated by fiction, and on leaving the house this morning I made a grab for 'Venice' by Peter Ackroyd. I've made small inroads into it, and am already fascinated by the way it weaves around the many layers of history - much like the city's many canals.
It's also made me make a decision about how I go about reading, and talking about it all. Whilst I may not comment on the newest things out there, I believe I can still take you all on a journey. We'll start in Venice, but after that who knows? I may take you to India or Greece; back in time to the Plantaganet era, or whisk you off into war torn London. There are a lot of strong women out there, and we might get accquainted with the Georgian Duchess of Devonshire, or perhaps her Tudor ancestor. Thomas Hardy might welcome us to his part of England, and Rasputin might issue a warning from the Russian Steppes.
Do not expect me to stand still this year - I'm broadening my horizons and I suggest you come along for the ride!
In view of tidying things up, here's a list of what I read in 2010
| Barbery, Muriel | The Elegance of the Hedgehog |
| Barker, Pat | Life Class |
| Byatt, A.S. | The Children's Book |
| Chevallier, Tracy | Remarkable Creatures |
| Christie, Agathe | Murder in Mesopotamia |
| Christie, Agathe | Dumb Witness |
| Christie, Agathe | The Moving Finger |
| Collins, Wilkie | The Moonstone |
| Collins, Wilkie | The Woman in White |
| De Santis, Pablo | The Paris Enigma |
| Dexter, Colin | The Way Through the Woods |
| Du Maurier, Daphne | Mary Anne |
| Du Maurier, Daphne | The House on the Strand |
| Dunant, Sarah | Sacred Hearts |
| Gaiman, Niel | The Graveyard Book |
| Grossmith, George and Wheedon | Diary of a Nobody |
| Hardy, Thomas | Jude the Obscure |
| Holt, Tom | Who's Afraid of Beowolf? |
| Holt, Tom | My Hero |
| HRH Princess Michael of Kent | The Serpent and the Moon |
| Kingsolver, Barbara | The Poisonwood Bible |
| Lake, Deryan | The King's Women |
| Laurens, Stephanie | The Ideal Bride |
| Maitland, Sarah | A Book of Silence |
| Mantel, Hilary | Wolf Hall |
| McCall Smith, Alexander | The Sunday Philosophy Club |
| Morton, Kate | The House at Riverton |
| Morton, Kate | The Distant Hours |
| Murdoch, Iris | The Bell |
| Picardie, Justine | Coco Chanel |
| Smith, P. Robert | Up a tree at night in a park with a hedgehog |
| Tolkein, J.R.R. | The Hobbit |
| Beerbohm, Max | Zuleika Dobson |
| Green, Grahame | Travels with my Aunt |
| Barbery, Muriel | The Gourmet |
| Gregory, Philippa | The White Queen |
I started the new year in a very familiar way - by reading. However, I chose a non-fiction book. You may be able to tell from the list above that 2010 was dominated by fiction, and on leaving the house this morning I made a grab for 'Venice' by Peter Ackroyd. I've made small inroads into it, and am already fascinated by the way it weaves around the many layers of history - much like the city's many canals.
It's also made me make a decision about how I go about reading, and talking about it all. Whilst I may not comment on the newest things out there, I believe I can still take you all on a journey. We'll start in Venice, but after that who knows? I may take you to India or Greece; back in time to the Plantaganet era, or whisk you off into war torn London. There are a lot of strong women out there, and we might get accquainted with the Georgian Duchess of Devonshire, or perhaps her Tudor ancestor. Thomas Hardy might welcome us to his part of England, and Rasputin might issue a warning from the Russian Steppes.
Do not expect me to stand still this year - I'm broadening my horizons and I suggest you come along for the ride!
Monday, 8 November 2010
Colouring around the facts
I was going through my back catalogue of posts, trying to spark an idea (having started out writing two posts this evening and failing to put my thoughts across coherently) when I discovered a post that I'd mistakenly left languishing as a draft back in 2008.
It does, however, say much which I still believe, so I thought I'd allow it to find it's audience after so long a wait in the wings. I've just spruced it up a bit - the wings can be an awfully dusty place ....
It should be no secret to those that have read this blog in the past to be told that I have always been fascinated by learning how a life was lived long ago. I have been hungry, ever since childhood, to know the most trivial or mundane details and perhaps this is why fiction seems to me to be such a suitable medium for capturing a life. I remember at the age of about eleven getting lost within the pages of 'Legacy' by Susan Kay - a wonderful narrative of Elizabeth I's life that wove the power of her status with the vulnerability of her personal life expertly and created a rich and broad tapestry whose focus seemed to shift with every new reading.
It can be hard for a straight biographer to do the same. Not unless you are Leon Edel or Martin Gilbert and intent on capturing for posterity every movement your subject makes (Henry James and Winston Churchill respectively) will you be able to devote the kind of microscopic attention to detail in a work of fact. The why and wherefore this is demanded as part of the package can drag the work down to the point of dullness. And if Winston Churchill was dull, then I'll take up smoking. This is where fiction allows a greater freedom.
A friend of mine, having read 'Regeneration' by Pat Barker, suggested that the true art of biographical fiction was the ability to 'paint around' the facts. This sums up, for me, the essence of what biographical fiction should be doing, and what - at its best - it does do. Many novels spring to mind which have biography at their hearts, but the ones which stand out to me as 'painting around' their central characters with the finest tools can be narrowed down to a select group.
2004 was, as David Lodge put it, 'the year of Henry James'. Three novels came out within months of each other, and it is 'Author, Author' by Lodge and 'The Master' by Colm Toibin that will always stand out for me, not least because of the way they managed to capture the essence of the man within their stories, although in very different ways.
These novels focus on the almost the same period of time; Lodge taking James' theatre career as the central theme, whilst Toibin uses the feelings of failure that arose from this unsuccessful period of James' life as his starting point. In one, James feels absolutely at the top of his game, ready to conquer the world, only to have his hopes dashed, and a friend (George du Maurier) appear to be much popular than he ever could be. In the other, James is in a world of depression, struggling to cope with the mere fact of his failure, but it is also a darker look at James' sexuality too. Both novels show a certain part of Henry James that perhaps isn't as well known as the figure of an extremely loquacious man that has been made so famous today. I think they are both fantastic - although only one was shortlisted the Booker prize - so perhaps my judgement isn't as sound as I'd like to believe.
In a biography the smaller details that the novels seek to address are sometimes cast aside to make room for larger events. 'Daphne' by Justine Picardie is just such a novel that seeks to throw the magnifying glass on smaller events that go into making a much larger one (in this case the writing of her biography on Branwell Bronte). You all know my enthusiasm for that novel, and I feel the need to borrow from Dovegreyreader, who wrote this (back in 2008) 'It's certainly hard to temper enthusiasm and not plunge overboard without a lifebelt when a book touches your heart.'
'Daphne' is certainly a novel that seeks to 'paint around' the general idea of one writing a book. Justine weaves so many threads into her novel, of deceit, jealousy, passion (both human and for literature), despair, obsession, madness, loss, failure. I could go on. I won't. We are allowed to view a side to Daphne that the public world would never see. A side aware of her own failures in her writing and in her personal life. Something that both Lodge and Toibin (Toibin to a greater extent) wrote about in their portrayals of James.
The point I am trying, inexpertly, to make, is that the genre of fiction is, by it's very essence, a natural way to present a life that has it's roots in reality. The books talked about above are ranked among my favourites, and that is because they are what I sought when younger - they fulfil the fascination I have for filling in the gaps, where the truth is just that little bit dusty.
It does, however, say much which I still believe, so I thought I'd allow it to find it's audience after so long a wait in the wings. I've just spruced it up a bit - the wings can be an awfully dusty place ....
It should be no secret to those that have read this blog in the past to be told that I have always been fascinated by learning how a life was lived long ago. I have been hungry, ever since childhood, to know the most trivial or mundane details and perhaps this is why fiction seems to me to be such a suitable medium for capturing a life. I remember at the age of about eleven getting lost within the pages of 'Legacy' by Susan Kay - a wonderful narrative of Elizabeth I's life that wove the power of her status with the vulnerability of her personal life expertly and created a rich and broad tapestry whose focus seemed to shift with every new reading.
It can be hard for a straight biographer to do the same. Not unless you are Leon Edel or Martin Gilbert and intent on capturing for posterity every movement your subject makes (Henry James and Winston Churchill respectively) will you be able to devote the kind of microscopic attention to detail in a work of fact. The why and wherefore this is demanded as part of the package can drag the work down to the point of dullness. And if Winston Churchill was dull, then I'll take up smoking. This is where fiction allows a greater freedom.
A friend of mine, having read 'Regeneration' by Pat Barker, suggested that the true art of biographical fiction was the ability to 'paint around' the facts. This sums up, for me, the essence of what biographical fiction should be doing, and what - at its best - it does do. Many novels spring to mind which have biography at their hearts, but the ones which stand out to me as 'painting around' their central characters with the finest tools can be narrowed down to a select group.
2004 was, as David Lodge put it, 'the year of Henry James'. Three novels came out within months of each other, and it is 'Author, Author' by Lodge and 'The Master' by Colm Toibin that will always stand out for me, not least because of the way they managed to capture the essence of the man within their stories, although in very different ways.
These novels focus on the almost the same period of time; Lodge taking James' theatre career as the central theme, whilst Toibin uses the feelings of failure that arose from this unsuccessful period of James' life as his starting point. In one, James feels absolutely at the top of his game, ready to conquer the world, only to have his hopes dashed, and a friend (George du Maurier) appear to be much popular than he ever could be. In the other, James is in a world of depression, struggling to cope with the mere fact of his failure, but it is also a darker look at James' sexuality too. Both novels show a certain part of Henry James that perhaps isn't as well known as the figure of an extremely loquacious man that has been made so famous today. I think they are both fantastic - although only one was shortlisted the Booker prize - so perhaps my judgement isn't as sound as I'd like to believe.
In a biography the smaller details that the novels seek to address are sometimes cast aside to make room for larger events. 'Daphne' by Justine Picardie is just such a novel that seeks to throw the magnifying glass on smaller events that go into making a much larger one (in this case the writing of her biography on Branwell Bronte). You all know my enthusiasm for that novel, and I feel the need to borrow from Dovegreyreader, who wrote this (back in 2008) 'It's certainly hard to temper enthusiasm and not plunge overboard without a lifebelt when a book touches your heart.'
'Daphne' is certainly a novel that seeks to 'paint around' the general idea of one writing a book. Justine weaves so many threads into her novel, of deceit, jealousy, passion (both human and for literature), despair, obsession, madness, loss, failure. I could go on. I won't. We are allowed to view a side to Daphne that the public world would never see. A side aware of her own failures in her writing and in her personal life. Something that both Lodge and Toibin (Toibin to a greater extent) wrote about in their portrayals of James.
The point I am trying, inexpertly, to make, is that the genre of fiction is, by it's very essence, a natural way to present a life that has it's roots in reality. The books talked about above are ranked among my favourites, and that is because they are what I sought when younger - they fulfil the fascination I have for filling in the gaps, where the truth is just that little bit dusty.
Poem of the week
An Arundel Tomb
Side by side, their faces blurred,
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd -
The little dogs under their feet.
Such plainness of the pre-baroque
Hardly involves the eye, until
It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still
Clasped empty in the other; and
One sees, with a sharp tender shock,
His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.
They would not think to lie so long.
Such faithfulness in effigy
Was just a detail friends would see:
A sculptor's sweet commissioned grace
Thrown off in helping to prolong
The Latin names around the base.
They would not guess how early in
Their supine stationary voyage
The air would change to soundless damage,
Turn the old tenantry away;
How soon succeeding eyes begin
To look, not read. Rigidly, they
Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths
Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light
Each summer thronged the glass. A bright
Litter of birdcalls strewed the same
Bone-riddled ground. And up the paths
The endless altered people came,
Washing at their identity.
Now, helpless in the hollow of
An unarmorial age, a trough
Of smoke in slow suspended skeins
Above their scrap of history,
Only an attitude remains:
Time has transfigured them into
Untruth. The stone fidelity
They hardly meant has come to be
Their final blazon, and to prove
Our almost-instinct almost true:
What will survive of us is love.
Phillip Larkin
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Oxford Thinking
One of the pleasures of working for Oxford University is the access it gives those that work for it to intellectual stimulation. I've not been a student for some years, but I can still get a boost of learning whenever the mood takes me. There are always talks and lectures going on, and since the notices come through my office to display, I can take my pick.
Yesterday I found myself in the English faculty listening to a distinguished American lecturer discuss the theme of property in Richard II. i have to admit I felt a little out of place, amongst the various Oxford students, all armed with notepads and looks of serious intent, but once that had worn off, I settled back into the practise of listening and learning. Besides - if the conversations I overheard beforehand were anything to go by, Oxford students definitely don't spend all their time pontificating on their various subjects. there was a particularly intense conversation going on behind me about the timeline of origin of the words 'Aubergine' and 'Eggplant'.
Another thing I love about this job is the access it gives me to the tutors. Once a term there is an MCR/SCR symposium, where a graduate and a fellow of the college talk about their work and interests. Now, this can be hit and miss. An interesting subject does not necessarily translate into an interesting talk, should the minutiae become all encompassing. This is rare, however, and the evenings are generally eye opening.
Blogging has also started to make an appearance, and Somerville has recently seen two new enthusiastic bloggers creep out of the woodwork. The new Principal - Dr Alice Prochaska - has started commenting on the new role she has been thrust in to, with all its various duties, whilst History tutor, Dr Natalia Nowakowska, has created a blog that not only looks at her research work, but which also talks about Oxford life from the view of an academic.
I've created a little Oxford haven on the left side of my blog, where I will be putting the various blogs and places of interest that I come across. At this time of great upheaval in the higher education sector, I think it's important to show people every aspect of the world they may want to enter. It's not all about beautiful architecture and overwhelming work. There's a very human aspect too.
Yesterday I found myself in the English faculty listening to a distinguished American lecturer discuss the theme of property in Richard II. i have to admit I felt a little out of place, amongst the various Oxford students, all armed with notepads and looks of serious intent, but once that had worn off, I settled back into the practise of listening and learning. Besides - if the conversations I overheard beforehand were anything to go by, Oxford students definitely don't spend all their time pontificating on their various subjects. there was a particularly intense conversation going on behind me about the timeline of origin of the words 'Aubergine' and 'Eggplant'.
Another thing I love about this job is the access it gives me to the tutors. Once a term there is an MCR/SCR symposium, where a graduate and a fellow of the college talk about their work and interests. Now, this can be hit and miss. An interesting subject does not necessarily translate into an interesting talk, should the minutiae become all encompassing. This is rare, however, and the evenings are generally eye opening.
Blogging has also started to make an appearance, and Somerville has recently seen two new enthusiastic bloggers creep out of the woodwork. The new Principal - Dr Alice Prochaska - has started commenting on the new role she has been thrust in to, with all its various duties, whilst History tutor, Dr Natalia Nowakowska, has created a blog that not only looks at her research work, but which also talks about Oxford life from the view of an academic.
I've created a little Oxford haven on the left side of my blog, where I will be putting the various blogs and places of interest that I come across. At this time of great upheaval in the higher education sector, I think it's important to show people every aspect of the world they may want to enter. It's not all about beautiful architecture and overwhelming work. There's a very human aspect too.
Thursday, 21 October 2010
Delivery for Miss W!
Goodness only knows why I'm buying books this close to Christmas (and don't all roll your eyes, it'll be here before you know it!), but I couldn't resist grabbing hold of Kate Morton's new novel 'The Distant Hours', the minute I knew about it. (Actually, I saw a poster in the tunnel on the way to the V&A, so that trip really did come up trumps, in all sorts of ways).
The trouble with buying books off the internet is that one can rarely tell how big they are. And let me tell you that Kate Morton's new book is BIG. I doubt it will even fit in my handbag, which is saying a lot!
I'm looking forward to it though - it has a very Manderlay looking gate on the front cover and has mystery stamped right through it's core. I can't wait - my wrists might have other ideas though!
The trouble with buying books off the internet is that one can rarely tell how big they are. And let me tell you that Kate Morton's new book is BIG. I doubt it will even fit in my handbag, which is saying a lot!
I'm looking forward to it though - it has a very Manderlay looking gate on the front cover and has mystery stamped right through it's core. I can't wait - my wrists might have other ideas though!
A little trip to the V&A
It was Friday last week that I escaped the clutches of work and headed up to London to hear Justine Picardie talk about her new book on Coco Chanel.
I arrived in plenty of time to go and see the Diaghilev and the Ballet Russe exhibition - something I was particularly excited about, not least because of Chanel's connection with him. (Can you imagine Chanel being employed as a costume designer for stage and screen? Neither could I - but it's hardly surprising that she should have had such a string to her bow). It's an amazing exhibition, so full of interesting details and the chance to see costumes up close. How people ever managed to dance in some of them I don't know, but they are a testament to a bygone age of opulence. It's still going on, and I'd encourage you to go if you get the chance.
Justine's talk was a feast for the eyes as well as the ears, as she interspersed her words with pictures. There are so many pictures of Chanel, and Justine's book makes full use of them. What better way to make a person come alive again than by presenting the reader with images?
Chanel was (and is) a fascinating woman, her life so full of mystery and misdirection. There are times reading the book that one cannot help but feel frustrated at what we don't know, but at times the hidden truth makes for exciting reading. I'm fairly sure that the mystery surrounding Chanel's involvement in World War Two and her relationship with a German officer (possibly a double agent) will never be fully explained, but it's certainly fun supposing about it all.
I asked Justine if, after all the time spent with Chanel, she felt she knew her. Justine answered with a distinct affirmative. I, however, am not so sure. It may just be the mirror images of the woman which are so famous skewing my judgement, but somehow I think the only person she showed her true face to was Boy Capel, and after his death she sought to bury that part in a riot of fabric. I may be wrong, and anyway - it doesn't detract from the wonder of the woman who will always be know by three small words: Chanel No 5.
I arrived in plenty of time to go and see the Diaghilev and the Ballet Russe exhibition - something I was particularly excited about, not least because of Chanel's connection with him. (Can you imagine Chanel being employed as a costume designer for stage and screen? Neither could I - but it's hardly surprising that she should have had such a string to her bow). It's an amazing exhibition, so full of interesting details and the chance to see costumes up close. How people ever managed to dance in some of them I don't know, but they are a testament to a bygone age of opulence. It's still going on, and I'd encourage you to go if you get the chance.
Justine's talk was a feast for the eyes as well as the ears, as she interspersed her words with pictures. There are so many pictures of Chanel, and Justine's book makes full use of them. What better way to make a person come alive again than by presenting the reader with images?
Chanel was (and is) a fascinating woman, her life so full of mystery and misdirection. There are times reading the book that one cannot help but feel frustrated at what we don't know, but at times the hidden truth makes for exciting reading. I'm fairly sure that the mystery surrounding Chanel's involvement in World War Two and her relationship with a German officer (possibly a double agent) will never be fully explained, but it's certainly fun supposing about it all.
I asked Justine if, after all the time spent with Chanel, she felt she knew her. Justine answered with a distinct affirmative. I, however, am not so sure. It may just be the mirror images of the woman which are so famous skewing my judgement, but somehow I think the only person she showed her true face to was Boy Capel, and after his death she sought to bury that part in a riot of fabric. I may be wrong, and anyway - it doesn't detract from the wonder of the woman who will always be know by three small words: Chanel No 5.
Monday, 27 September 2010
Eight Bloggers walk into a pub ....
It sounds like the start of a bad joke, but in actually fact eight bloggers did walk into a pub (Far From the Madding Crowd in Oxford to be precise) and had an enjoyable few hours merrily chatting.
I'd been unable to attend the previous bloggers meet up in May, so was quite excited about this one, particularly as it gave me a chance to show off my lovely home town. (Not quite devoid of tourists now, but about as close as we'll ever get!).
The afternoon started off with a small group of us meeting in Blackwells, and then pottering about Oxford. We spent an hour in the lovely Ashmolean, before heading off the quirky Albion Beatnik bookshop, and a quick trip into Somerville college.
After that we headed off to the pub and were joined by a few more bloggers. Sadly quite a few people discovered they couldn't make it, but I still think a good time was had by all who did turn up, and it was lovely to be able to put faces to the words.
I'm looking forward to the next meetup - whenever it might be. We might even be brave and head a bit further north .....
I'd been unable to attend the previous bloggers meet up in May, so was quite excited about this one, particularly as it gave me a chance to show off my lovely home town. (Not quite devoid of tourists now, but about as close as we'll ever get!).
The afternoon started off with a small group of us meeting in Blackwells, and then pottering about Oxford. We spent an hour in the lovely Ashmolean, before heading off the quirky Albion Beatnik bookshop, and a quick trip into Somerville college.
After that we headed off to the pub and were joined by a few more bloggers. Sadly quite a few people discovered they couldn't make it, but I still think a good time was had by all who did turn up, and it was lovely to be able to put faces to the words.
I'm looking forward to the next meetup - whenever it might be. We might even be brave and head a bit further north .....
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