Snowy/Rainy days in London

Sorry - it's been a bit of a week. Last Monday London officially shut down, sulking that it was just too hard to cope with snow. Also Boyfriend had his wisdom teeth out, which involved a fairly treacherous drive through north London. Boyfriend then developed post-operative complications and I spent the rest of the week doing my Florence Nightingale impersonation. (It wasn't very good - I'm not very patient.) All this meant:

a) I've done no work.
b) I ran out of time to prepare for work experience placement.
c) I am*seriously* behind with my blogging/twittering.
e) I missed Russell Hoban's birthday on the 4th - see the sa4qe blog.
d) I came down with the mother of all colds (the snow may have had something to do with that...)

On another note, I had my first day carrying out work experience today with a view to the gaping chasm that is my post-PhD employability. As I've previously mentioned, I'm keen to work in publishing, and I already have some experience of copy editing. I sent out what felt like thousands of CVs at the end of last year, and had one reply from SCM Press (one of the major publishers of academic theology in the UK). Off I trotted through the pouring rain this morning to Barbican, thougts swinging between the harsh realism of a publishing industry struggling through recession and wild hopes that a job (any job) may come out of this placement. As I walked out of the tube station, A to Z in hand, a young woman thrust a free newspaper into my hand, saying, "Short stories!" [It was a free Arts Council-funded paper called Notes from the Underground which prints unsolicited stories, poetry, reviews etc.] This seemed like a good sign, somehow, and the day went on to be very productive and very informative. The people were lovely and, although I am to be based in the Sales and Marketing department, they seem to be fairly flexible about letting me drift over to Editing now and then. The only real danger of going along once a week to their offices seems to be that I will allow the PhD work to lapse, which I really cannot afford to do at this stage.

Aside from that, all is carrying on as ever. I watched part of the Baftas on the BBC last night and was somewhat surprise to hear Mickey Rourke named as Best Actor for The Wrestler, but not at all surprised to watch Slumdog Millionaire win award after award. The Baftas always tend to go for home-grown talent, and although this may somewhat compromise their standing in the awards season, it's nice to see the smaller (and smaller-budgeted) films have some success.

More Hoban...

"Around us all is night, black night that howls outside the circle of our words or crouches magically with the fire reflected in its eyes. We are in it; it is in us. We need to know that night and we need not to know. Our primal 'What if?' is the twining of our fingers in the dark with those of unseen Chance and whispering Dread who walk with us. They are sister and brother to us, father and mother: the ancient family of not-knowing, walking in uncertainty."

Russell Hoban, 'Household Tales by The Brothers Grimm' in The Moment Under the Moment, 148-9.

He writes these words and as I read them, I know that they are in me, written just the same. They feel familiar; I recognise them as though they belong to me too.

The dark and the new

I'm currently reading an awful lot of Russell Hoban for the purposes of my final PhD chapter (whilst listening to the soundtrack of the film Stardust - why is it reading to music can sometimes be impossible, and sometimes necessary?). His ability to weave and twist and embrace words is so achingly beautiful that it makes me want to cry:

"... the pleromatic depth and colour and luminosity of Venice: the light could almost be tasted like wine; the darks were juicy, musky, sweet, sombre, poignant, romantic, secret, tragic, dangerous, and always beckoning."
Hoban, 'The Colour of Love' in The Moment Under the Moment

He has a fascination with darkness, the moment between hereness and notness, time unfolded and unnecessary that holds the reader hypnotised. Ever since I was introduced to him by a slightly eccentric (and I don't think she'll mind me saying that!) English Literature teacher, I have felt a deep affinity between his novels and whatever it is that theology and philosophy grasp for. I don't mean to say that he is writing philosophical or religious literature; rather, he seems to get at the ungraspable, the 'Moment under the Moment'.

Moments seem more important than ever now: yesterday I was deeply aware of participating in history - not just going through daily life in the way that constitutes 99.9% of actual history, but of being present in a moment that marks something new (even if it does not ultimately succeed). 'Change has come' - is that not what all the American news networks are saying? I think they are right. It feels different now, as though this man might have the belief and bravery to change the world's path. Of course, he cannot do it on his own and I hope beyond hope that we can take the responsibility now for the things that need fixing. It feels new and exciting! This is perhaps the moment that will define my generation - as much as it has already been fixed by 9-11, a melting earth and financial crisis. Here's to the bright newness of tomorrow and the ancient darkness of all our todays!