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...

Currently reading

When I say that I am currently reading William Goldman's The Princess Bride, what I really mean is that this is the book that goes in my handbag when I am travelling on the tube. (Isn't it funny that one always needs something to do on the tube? Preferably a silent activity, of course - wouldn't want to rock the boat! Having said that, I endured a 45 minute trip to Heathrow over the weekend listening to a young man holding two conversations - on two mobile phones - simultaneoulsy. At yelling-across-a-room pitch. If I weren't so polite, I could quite cheerfully have given him a very mean stare. Or a kick in the balls.)

Aside from The Princess Bride, I am reading several hefty tomes concerning the authority of reading in the Christian Church. This is all contributing to chapter 4 (or is it chapter 3?) of the PhD. Time appears to be running out on this quicker than I can keep up, but I still find plenty of time to surf the net, play Spider Solitaire and create new and exciting playlists in iTunes... It's not the I don't enjoy what I am doing; it's just that I cannot yet grasp a sense of the whole, and that's holding me back significantly from constructing the parts. It is the literary equivalent of vomiting everywhere, then trying to collect it into one neat (and coherent!) pile. Frankly, I'm looking forward to getting shot of it now. It would be nice to have a weekend, or an evening, when I'm not thinking, "well, really, I should be typing up those notes on the Carolingian Church..." or, "Damn, I'd really better finish Chapter 2 today". And yet it is an immense privilege to have all this time to be creative, to produce something which I care about deeply, and wish pushes me intellectually as far as possible. It has been a frightening and exhilarating experience and I'm more tired than I can say. Sod savings - I think once I have finished this, I'm going to go on holiday!

Lessons from history

I would never normally advocate watching something or reading something when you already know what the ending is going to be, but I think sometimes it is good for the soul. Case in point: Deborah Moggach's version of The Diary of Anne Frank for the BBC. There is something dreadfully poignant about watching this 'tweenager' dream about her future as "a dancer, an ice-skater, I haven't really decided yet" when you know that in fact she is going to die in the typhus-ridden Bergen-Belsen camp only a few years' later. I know people often feel that Holocaust literature has been done to death, but it never ceases to be important to remind people of what they are capable of - both good and bad. This is, we are told, an opportunity to learn the lessons of history, but do we ever? I'm not sure where I stand on the current situation in Gaza, but I know it makes me feel deeply uncomfortable. What are the lengths we would go to to protect our own? The recent changes in British legislation are another example, opening the gates for a myriad of unsettling situations justified under 'anti-terrorism' laws. The fact that Iceland was recently declared a terrorist threat to the UK in order to allow the financiers to gain access to British funds in failing Icelandic banks is nothing short of disasterous. The dystopic worlds of Orwell and Huxley apparently exist, quietly and irrevocably, under a veil of polite deniability and 'human rights'. I would like to think that were such a situation as Anne Frank's ever to arise again, I would do the right thing, no matter how hard it may be. The absolutely terrifying thing is, however, that I do not know what I would do until I am faced with doing it. More terrifying, even, than that is whether there would be anyone to help me and mine if we became persona non grata for some reason or another.