Christmas cold

'Tis the season, after all... As I sit here trying to read about the medieval English attitude to literacy and its connection to the liturgy whilst heavily dosed on Lemsip and every other cold remedy known to mankind, I thought I'd just update the posts with a few things of interest.

Very funny (and irreverent!) description of a Sunday morning experience in an Anglican church:

http://scaryduck.blogspot.com/2008/12/on-being-led-into-temptation.html

Very funny fairy tale/Christmas cartoon:

http://bookwitch.wordpress.com/2008/12/10/red-riding-hood/

Very intersting Q & A article with Philip Pullman:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/arts_and_culture/7774176.stm

This is interesting, not least because he appears to be utterly horrified at any suggestion that his stories are knowingly anti-religious (or, more particularly, anti-Christian), but also because he simultaneously appears to pitch himself as someone who would 'fight hard' for the anti-religious cause (if such a thing can be said to exist):

"I think the fashion for fundamental ways of thought will fade eventually. Living at a pitch of hysteria is exciting for a while, but then people get tired of stoning martyrs and exorcising devils and being fearful of shadows, and want to live normally again. But if such a clash does come, we shall have to fight hard."

This has a worrying hint of Richard Dawkins about it - religion versus 'normality'. I am not a deeply religious person - I certainly don't have a regular religious outlet - but I am deeply interested in its effects on history, society and culture. It frustrates me that religion is so often that which is to be opposed to something else, whether it be a political theory, a scientific thesis or a social construct. Having said that, of course, those in the know from the fields that religion is most often opposed to tend to feel equally exasperated by the whole process. Genuine scholars realise that there is more to be gained from a weaving together of different perspectives, rather than a shutting out of dialogue. I admire Philip Pullman's books and, as he advises in this article, I take them to be stories, rather than preconditioned agendas. It is a shame that the questions he is asked by fans push him into dealing with these sorts of polarities; I suspect he may be far happier to be understood as a story-teller who lives through his imagination.

In more time-wasting internet surfing I discovered to my great delight that a) there is to be a new Stephen Poliakoff film in 2009 and b) David Tennant is playing a part in it. I obviously leapt onto IMDB to find out what I could and it sounds really interesting. Its title is 1939 and it is the story of a family dealing with the situation in Britain in 1939. The BBC showed two feature-length Poliakoff films in 2007 (Capturing Mary and Joe's Palace), along with a shorter, character-based drama revolving around one of the central characters in Capturing Mary (The Perfect Summer). This was my introduction to Ruth Wilson, an actress I have come to greatly admire. Poliakoff's films are so beautiful; many people I know find them too static (perhaps the consequence of a diet of action films?), but I find their character development and slow, thoughtful camera work very moving and poignant. Let's be honest, after studying Chekhov in the original Russian, I am immune to static drama... Roll on 1939!

Happy December!

My second-favourite month of the year (after September!) - perhaps it's odd to rate the months, but there you go... Christmas cards are largely written, presents ordered (God bless the internet) and in a few weeks' time decorations will go up. Found it very difficult this year to find advent calendars - especially those without chocolate. It seems like cheating to have chocolate every day on the run up to Christmas; you appreciate the Quality Streets far more on the day if you haven't been stuffing yourself for the previous twenty-four! Rather disturbingly, flatmate has been bought an advent calendar by his mother entitled - and I kid you not - Sexy Ladies. Each day contains a chocolate and a picture of a half-naked young woman (usually with a vacant expression). The true meaning of Christmas...

Watched the BBC's adaptation of Henning Mankell's Wallander series on Sunday. Starring (directed by? produced by?) Kenneth Branagh, I knew it could turn into something of an ego performance. I haven't yet read any of the original novels - though I borrowed one from the local library yesterday - so I can't really comment on how true the adaptation is to Mankell's writing. I have to admit, I found it a little difficult to get into the story. It seemed to be full of 'arty' shots and overly dramatic crescendos of orchestral music. This is always worrying in a TV show - it seems to imply that the story itself needs crutches, that it can't stand alone on its own merit. However, by the end of the episode I was in tears. It was a beautifully-told story, and the overriding theme of fathers and sons was very powerfully portrayed. The only slight niggle was the casting: when the majority of the secondary characters are relatively unknown, but one is recognisable, chances are they are going to have something to do with the final denouement...

Have been thinking a lot over the past few weeks about what happens next, career-wise. I had a slight panic when I realised all my PhD colleagues are applying for jobs (apparently one applies in January for posts which start in September - regardless of whether one has the qualification yet). I spent eight hours over the weekend searching for jobs and - surprise, surprise - there are none. It seems that unless an academic subject is 'economically viable', there is no funding available to pay for either researchers or newly-qualified lecturers. After seven years of higher education (let alone the seven years of secondary and seven years of primary), it was a little galling to see post after post in the sciences and social sciences, but not a thing for the humanities. To be perfectly honest, at this stage in the game, I need to get a regular income; I have some savings, but they won't last forever. So, I sat down and thought properly about the future for the first time in ages. And the more I thought, the more I realised that the struggles of the past few years seem to be down to the fact that, although I am proud of what I am achieving and realise the benefit of pushing my intellect with this research, I'm not really enjoying myself. At the moment, the potential of a career in academia makes me feel stressed. There is very little job security, and one's position eternally depends on the research one produces. Perhaps because of this, it feels as though the work never ends: it is not as though you complete a project and move onto the next one - you are constantly working, there are constantly things you haven't done, so you never really get the chance to leave it behind. And if you aren't really enjoying it in the first place, then that is a fairly big commitment to make. So, I thought, what do I really love? Short answer - books and reading. If I could, I would spend my whole life reading books and digesting them. I am good at editing and analysing text (I've edited two academic books, and a large proportion of academic research is about analysing text), and I enjoy the challenges presented by new material. On this basis, I've decided to try and get some work experience with several publishing firms, with a view to moving sideways into publishing once I've finished the PhD. As ever, we shall see...

On a slightly happier note, it's our seventh anniversary today. Seven sounds like a big number, but it does seem to have whipped by very quickly! Out to dinner tonight - he's paying...

Einstein, Dostoevsky and films

Watched the BBC's Einstein and Eddington last night. I was really looking forward to seeing how Andy Serkis played Enistein; somehow it feels like a role he was born to play! I'm also not knocking yet another opportunity to see David Tennant in - well - anything at all, really. I have to admit, I was somewhat gutted about the fact that much of the filming took place in and around Cambridge - at precisely the times when I was no longer there! Sod's law... The film (which, at an hour and a half, is what it was, I suppose) left me feeling a little bit empty. The performances were brilliant for the most part, and the script was very good. However, it felt as though it needed a little more time to develop the central characters. I suppose for that sort of running time, you're talking about a series, and I don't think the story warranted that, but I still felt as though something were missing. The references to faith and God were very interesting, but felt a bit out of place; I would have liked the writer to explore that side of things a little more. One of the most important things this programme did, however, was to remind you that science never takes place in a vacuum. So much of what happens is informed by the time and place in which it takes place. The speech given by Eddington at the very end of the programme highlighted this well: he said that, in the light of this new science (Einstein's General Relativity), the world felt brand new and a little bit more lonely. A relevant epithet for the post-WW1 society, too, I think. Boyfriend commented that the great leaps in science always seem to occur in times of historical unrest or military campaign. There is something disquieting about this: can progress only occur through the necessity of beating one's enemies (or competitors)? It also interestingly raised the issue of scientific discovery being used as much for propoganda as for military gain. Very good programme, all in all.

I think, if I were to be any scientist, I would like to be Einstein. I have a great deal of time for him. He had the ability to see the patterns in things, and prized imagination very highly. He did not entirely detach himself from living in the world either; he was acutely aware of the implications of his scientific research, particularly insofar as it led to the development of the A-bomb. It reminded me of the fact that he donated his brain to medical science when he died. Rather like the phrenologists of the Victorian age, medical researchers were keen to study his brain to see if there were any physiological location for his genius. They found nothing special. I like that! It is like Dostoevsky's Zosima in The Brothers Karamazov: an exceptionally holy monk whose body is expected to remain miraculously preserved after death, but actually decomposes at an unusual rate. Such groundedness gives me the hope that anyone can be anything - monk or genius - that the potential is there. (Although some years later another scientist obtained special permission to look again at Einstein's brain and found a certain section of the frontal lobe to be larger than normal...)

I've just watched Stardust for the nth time and still love it to bits. It's definitely the kind of film to watch when you're on your own for the evening and it's raining outside. I have to admit (as sacrilegious as this may sound to some) that I prefer the screenplay to Neil Gaiman's novel - it has more humour to it, and, I suppose filmically, it works better. Which is what it's meant to do, after all! Anyway, the soundtrack has now gone on my Amazon wishlist...

Good books, historical books, theological books...

I've just finished reading Walter Moers's The City of Dreaming Books. I picked it up in the local library, as an 'I need one more book for this week' book. It's the first of his 'Zamonian' books that I've read and I thorougly enjoyed it. It is set in the fantasy world of Zamonia and tells the story of a young Lindworm who travels to the big city to hunt down the greatest ever author. When he naively shows the manuscript he possesses to several publishers and literary agents, he is poisoned and locked away in the city's catacombs deep under ground. Lost and alone, he battles his way past various supposedly mythical creatures on his journey towards knowledge. The drawings in the book are fantastic, and are used really cleverly in several places as narrative tools. I have to admit, I was a little sceptical of reading a novel whose main protagonist is a dinasaur (sorry, a Lindworm), but it was a very funny and very insightful story. I'll now try and get hold of his other works published in English (and perhaps even have a go at the German!).

As far as research goes, I'm now ploughing on with the next chapter. This is to be based around the themes of authority and interpretation in reading Scripture as part of the liturgy. Funnily enough, there's not a book to be had on this subject, so I've come home from the university library with a tonne of books that will probably all turn out to be totally irrelevant! I think I might like to include something about the book of Job as part of this chapter, so I picked up Jung's Answer to Job. This is a fascinating book - it feels incredibly dated, with its misogynistic assumptions about women (par exemple, "this symbol lays bare the whole mystery of the 'woman': she contains in her darkness the sun of 'masculine' consciousness") and its reliance on astrology to explain features of psychology. It reminds me of the fact that just such psychologists treated women in the early 20th century who presented with the symptoms of 'hysteria' - turns out the women in question had all experienced orgasm for the first time. There is something incredibly tragic about that! It makes you feel as though you need to constantly remember exactly why feminism needed to happen in the first place, if only as a tribute to the women who were harmed by the prevailing 'scientific' and 'intellectual' views. Anyway, this book feels as though it belongs to that particular period of 'enlightenment' - but a quick glance at the publisher's details shows it was first published in 1954. Not so long ago.... Despite this, Jung has some interesting (if theolgically dubious) things to say about what God has to learn from Job; what he can gain for himself by reading Job, as it were.

I've also just finished reading Neil Gaiman's American Gods. I've started it several times, and never managed to get all the way through. I think it's one of those novels where you need to be in exactly the right frame of mind to get through it. I was determined to manage it, though, as I love everything else he has written. I find the main character difficult to sympathise with, and I know next to nothing about the geography of America, but this time round I found it really fascinating. From the perspective of my academic background, some of the images towards the end of the novel were really very interesting and may well make it into my chapter on a theology of reading non-religious texts (taking a great deal of liberty, I imagine, with the author's own personal views on religious belief!). We have something of a Neil Gaiman household at the moment - my partner is whizzing through Neverwhere. He's not a great reader (of fiction, at any rate), but he enjoyed The Graveyard Book and I persuaded him to give Neverwhere a go. He absolutely loves it! Good Omens next, I think.

Pratchett, Chekhov and Augustine

I've just finished reading Terry Pratchett's The Fifth Elephant (I came to the Discworld series very late, and am now enjoying reading like a 16-year-old boy. Not that that constitutes the bulk of his readership, of course!). The book has a marvellous interlude in which the hero, Sam Vines, runs into three sisters who live in a cherry orchard, want to move to the big city, and loan him a pair of Uncle Vanya's trousers. Having torturously studied both "The Cherry Orchard" and "Three Sisters" in Russian at school, I deeply appreciated the comic turn of this chapter. Just like all readers (viewers) of "Three Sisters", I always wondered why they didn't just get off their arses and go to Moscow. In Pratchett's version, the youngest sibling is pressing for just that (hooray!). It reminded me of the fact that, when the play was first produced by the Moscow Arts Theatre (MXAT, in Russian) with Stanislavsky at the helm, a dispute arose between Chekhov and the director. Chekhov swore blind that he'd written a comedy; Stanislavsky patiently explained that it was, in fact, a deeply emotional and painfully static realist play and, moreover, this was precisely how the company were going to perform it. This always made me wonder what would have happened if they had produced it as a comedy. Jonathan Ross once spoke about a Swedish film he'd seen, which was far and away the most depressing film he'd ever experienced; he watched it again in the cinema whilst in Sweden and discovered to his great constenation that it was considered to be a roll-in-the-aisles comedy.

On the point of authors who make me laugh, I've just started to read Augustine's On Christian Doctrine as part of my research. He has a light touch and tone that is so wonderfully suited to today's readership. I am studying his understanding of reading in the Christian community, looking in particular at the notions of authoritative reading associated with Christian liturgy. To those members of the communion who suggest that they are able to read and interpret Scripture correctly without reference to Church or liturgy, he sarcastically points out that, "I would such persons could calm themselves so far as to remember that, however justly they may rejoice in God's great gift, yet it was from human teachers they themselves learnt to read." He continues to note that many of the readers who refuse to acknowledge the interpretation of the Church themselves "undertake to interpret for others". I think he may secretly have been an Englishman at heart!

Reluctant Kings

Have just seen the following on the BBC website - the new King of Bhutan has been crowned. He is the youngest king in the world and looks, to me, to be distinctly uncomfortable with the whole process!

Even sillier is the news that an effigy of Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand is to burned in Kent as part of a bonfire night spectacle. It really does seem to have got out of hand now. They are not the first entertainers to be uncomfortably risque, nor will they be the last, I imagine. It makes you wonder how much this entire situation is about the offense caused to a respected actor (who, by the by, is being treated as a doddery old fool by most of the nation's press) and how much it is about the fear of ambition and success. I think it would be a loss if these performers found themselves unable to get work on the basis of this event. Having said that, perhaps the controversy won't do either of them any harm!

Addendum

Bakhtin once said that in the novel, "every object of artistic representation loses its completedness, its hopelessly finished quality". It made me think: things have to be wrong for there to be hope and what is the world without hope? The implications of this are difficult to contemplate...