Reading, evangelising, kissing and more...

It's been a manic few weeks - work seems to be collapsing at a frightening rate, just as other things are mounting up. Work experience is continuing to be interesting as well as being good fun; I was introduced to the chief exec this week and, apparently, next Monday there is to be drinks and nibbles and general merriment. I've also put in a job application for a teaching job in an independent secondary school. It was all fairly fast: I saw the advert on Thursday and had put the application in on Sunday. The closing date is on the 23rd and interviews are being held on the 2nd March. I'm using every spare second I have preparing just in case!

Anyway, I thought I'd better catch up on a few of the links that have caught my eye in the last week:

I read this posting about Michael Rosen's Just Read (BBC4) on Bookwitch and immediately switched over to the BBC iPlayer to see for myself. This programme was really interesting. I have a long-standing interest in reading and libraries, and it was fascinating to see the way in which an entire school's reading ethos changed in just three months. This was, of course, in large part due to the immediate presence of Michael Rosen (the current Children's Laureate). As ever, I found myself distracted by his marvellous boggle-eyes and wonderful poems, but it was clear from the outset that the children responded to his apparently boundless enthusiasm for words. From my own experience of tutoring several primary-age children, I know that kids love stories, as long as someone is prepared to sit and read with them. Bearing in mind that some of the children I have come across in the past live in houses that don't contain a single book, this can be something of a challenge, but, as Mr. Rosen demonstrated, if you can get over the fact that reading books out loud 'isn't cool', then all of a sudden new horizons open up. Having said that, not every school is lucky enough to have a personal reading mentor of Mr. Rosen's calibre - not necessarily in terms of output or fame, but certainly in terms of energy! I think the only way any school is going to be able to promote - and sustain - a love of reading is if it is supported by the child's home life and that brings with it a whole new set of challenges.

Two other fascinating BBC programmes recently: Moses Jones, a BBC2 drama series which managed to clash with every other TV programme I enjoy and was subsequently relegated to iPlayer status, and Trouble in Amish Paradise, a documentary also shown on BBC2. The former was an extraordinarily well-scripted drama with edgy direction and a cast which gave honest performances. It showed the immigrant subculture of London without any of the usual assumptions and was a truly exciting insight into the breadth of experience in the city. As a Londoner, I felt as though the London I actually live in was at last being shown in its true brilliance and nastiness. That's something you find in Dickens - although this didn't feel as caricatured as some of his novels. Neither was it particularly cliched, and, although it did deal with some issues which have begun to feel a bit hackneyed, it came across as a genuinely truthful presentation of a collection of lives in London.

Trouble in Amish Paradise is another programme which might have fallen into cliche, but didn't. There were the usual shots of horse-drawn carriages and men and women in period costume, but at its heart, this was a story about two families teetering on the edge of the Amish culture and the wilderness beyond. Both families had been excommunicated by the community for disobeying the rules of the Elders, but both passionately believed in the justness of their beliefs. The central problem seemed to be the fact that they insisted on reading the Bible in English, not the original antiquated German, and they felt called to evangelise and discuss their views on Christianity with others, both inside and outside the immediate community. This may not seem such a sin to we outsiders looking in, but I imagine it had the potential to blow a huge hole in the structures of this protective and protected society. Despite their alienation from their friends and family, support was immediately provided when difficulties arose. A programme which might have made me knowingly mock a 'less-developed' attitude to Christianity instead made me long for that security of community through good times and bad - and who ever said living with others was meant to be easy?

Last week the General Synod of the Church of England voted to ban clergy from being members of the BNP; it simultaneously debated the role of its mission of conversion in the twenty-first century. The two things seem to me to be somehow linked. At the core of the issue is the importance of free speech in our society. People advocate the right to freedom of speech as one of the most enshrined of all human rights, and yet not everyone is happy to allow all matters to be expressed freely. The argument for conversion is not only that it is biblically grounded, but also that the opportunity to express freely (as enshrined in the right to freedom of speech) the evangelical aspects of Christian life should be more eagerly taken. The Church of England is often derided for not being proactive in its approach to evangelism and this would seem to be a welcome invitation (or a kick up the backside - whichever you prefer!) to become more active in the wider community. However, to simultaneously ban members of the clergy from expressing a particular political opinion seems to be taking the opposite track entirely. Please understand, I am not in *any* way condoning the 'policies' of the BNP; rather, I am noting the rather worrying precedent it may set for future debate. Freedom of speech is not always nice speech, or comforting speech, or safe speech, but it is free speech.

On a tangentially religious note, I've noticed various humorous responses to the agnostic bus signs ("There's probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life"), the best of which was a competition run on the Faith-Theology blogspot. My favourite proposed caption was "Relax! God loves a smiling atheist!".

Aside from that, other general links of interest:

Useful computer paraphernalia from the London Review Bookshop - one of those things you don't think you need until you find you can't live without it...

A very funny short film - This Way Up, directed by Alan Smith & Adam Foulkes of Nexus, nominated for best animated short at this year's Oscars - the only British nomination, as Nick Park of Wallace and Gromit fame missed deadline. I really enjoyed it and have passed the link on to as many friends and family as possible.

Bookmooch: a site for passing on books you don't need anymore (although I can't imagine ever actually being brave enough to let my books go).

And finally, a thought-provoking article from the BBC about the negative space of kissing: a series of sculptures being created by artist Chris Murphy at the Science Museum in London. The very idea of being able to visualise (and materialize) the space of a kiss is strange and yet somehow intriguing...

Keep an eye on the Russell Hoban blog - will be updating it in the next day or two as I come to the end of rereading all his novels!!! I'm existing in a world of Hoban oddness at the moment, where everything seems to be a little less real, but I'm sure it will pass eventually - or as soon as the work panic sets in again.

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.

Fairy tales

Just watching Jonathan Ross interviewing Glenn Close on the BBC. He's talking about her role in 101 Dalmatians and comments that you don't often see strong female characters in (especially Disney) cartoons. She replies, "I used to watch cartoons with my daughter and I noticed that you don't have any mothers in cartoons - you don't have any mothers in fairy tales - because mothers are fierce and if there were mothers in fairy tales, nothing would ever happen to the kids." I like that!

[*Although there is a mother in Stardust (Neil Gaiman's fairy tale. Or tale from Faerie.) Having said that, not wishing to give away too much of the plot, she can't do much for most of the story...]

Cinema, TV and books

Went to see Ron Howard's Frost-Nixon on Wednesday. The Frost-Nixon interviews are now legendary in political broadcasting. I've never seen them all, but I have seen bits and bobs. It's difficult now to understand why they were so important at the time, and how deeply the USA felt the betrayal of President Nixon, but I think this film did a good job of addressing these issues. Michael Sheen is one of my favourite actors; he has played many biographical parts now (Tony Blair in The Queen - also Ron Howard; Kenneth Williams in Fantabulosa!) and, although he never physically resembles the person he is playing, he has a remarkable ability to assimilate their physical habits: twitches, raised eyebrows, hand gestures. It was somewhat unnerving, too, to be looking at Michael Sheen, and to hear David Frost's voice! Frank Langella was wonderful as President Nixon and fully deserves his Oscar nomination for Best Actor. Frost-Nixon is an understated film that is beautifully acted and directed. There were moments when the entire audience were collectively holding their breath - an experience I haven't had for a long time in the cinema. It makes me wish that I had seen the original theatre production.

Watching the BBC news yesterday evening, I felt somewhat bemused by the acceleration of events connected to the global economic crisis. Demonstrations in Paris were turning violent and attracting hundreds of thousands of people onto the streets. The French are exercising their democratic right to make their voices heard in protest against Sarkozy's policies of pumping huge amounts of taxpayers' money into failing banks, whilst at the same time not holding those responsible for the slump to account. And over here in the UK? We sit at home, drinking tea, muttering that someone really should do something about the Labour government, whose policies are near-identical. Jobs are being shed daily and there is a real sense of fear outside. Walking along the high street is a chastening experience, as empty shop after empty shop closes its doors for good. This is certainly not a good time to be looking for a job!

Of course, this morning's news told of various groups of industrial workers coming out on wildcat strikes across the UK. This is not a protest against govermental economic policy as such; rather, it is the concern that what jobs there are, are being given to non-UK residents (presumeably for reasons of cost-cutting). I was a very young child in the eighties, but I do remember TV news pictures of panic-stricken and angry men coming out on strike, especially in Scotland, Wales and the north of England. The pictures I saw this morning on the news were disturbingly similar. What is different now, however, is the rallying call of 'UK jobs for UK citizens': I worry that this could be a tipping point into a BNP nightmare. And of course, we musn't forget that this is not a BNP slogan, but a Labour soundbite from one of Mr. Brown's speeches in 2007...

Of all the blogs I follow, Bookwitch is my favourite. I always save it until last, because I know that whatever is written will be interesting and entertaining. Today's entry was no exception: the witch wrote about her love of Joan Aiken's The Wolves of Willoughby Chase series. I read this books avidly as a child and I think I may now pick them all up at the weekend from my parents' house and have a comfortable few days of reacquainting myself with Simon, Dido Twite and the rest!

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!

Progress, at last!

Oh ho ho! Draft chapter 4 has been submitted - ahead of schedule, 'third time lucky'! ('Second time lucky' had me handing in last Monday; 'first time round' had a deadline in the last week of December...) It's not as bad as I had anticipated, although it's a little light on words. The glaringly obvious fault, however, is the fact that it doesn't yet hang together with the rest of the thesis, but that is something I intend to address after I have at the very least first drafts of all the proposed chapters. The next challenge, then, is to complete a draft of the final substantial chapter. This promises to be the most interesting chapter to write, and has the most potential to be creative. Having said that, I have very little idea at the moment of how to structure, or even what concept should be the guiding statement of the piece.

I've finished reading William Goldman's The Princess Bride. I really enjoyed it: the humour appealed to me and I really liked the 'abridger's inserts' - they reminded me of the meandering commentaries of Henry Fielding in Tom Jones and pretty much the whole of Tristram Shandy. I could quote whole chunks of the The Princess Bride that had me giggling, but here's one of the best:

"With no more words, she whirled into his arms then, saying, 'Oh, Westley, I didn't mean that, I didn't, I didn't, not a single syllabub of it.'
Now Westley knew that she meant to say, 'not a single syllable of it,' because a syllabub was something you ate, with cream and wine mixed in together to form the base. But he also knew an apology when he heard one. So he held her very close, and shut his loving eyes, and only whispered, 'I knew it was false, believe me, every single syllabub.'"

The story is a twist on the classic fairy tale (with the proviso that it may not end happily for all because, well, that's just life, isn't it?). The characters are appealing (or unappealing, if they are meant to be. Or, indeed, appealing in their unappealingness); the plot is sufficiently exciting to guide you through the jumps in time and narrative and the whole idea that this is a story that is meant to be read out loud is particularly interesting. We don't do that so much anymore, or, if we do, we limit it to reading to children. There is something performative about this novel which acknowledges that when you get down to it, stories are meant to be read aloud: whispered in quiet moments, told to friends in laughter, argued over, loved and remembered. All in all, it's a highly recommended book!

As I was driving to my parents this morning (what is it about Friday mornings and traffic on the North Circular? It's as though everyone has agreed to go out between the hours of 10am and 11am just for the purpose of making my journey has hellish as possible....) I followed one of those G4 security vans with a sign on the back that reads, 'Police follow this van'. I can never work out whether this is a command or a warning. Oh, well, pondering that great question kept me occupied for 40 minutes between Hammersmith and Chiswick...